Old Habits Die Hard
by MidnightSiren113
Summary: Overwatch has been recalled to stop the growing dangers to humanity, the omnics and Talon. Bringing back a group of people with such a rich history can prove to be problematic, however. This story deals with multiple ships beyond those listed characters and multiple time periods in Overwatch history. Includes language and sexual themes
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This chapter has been majorly changed, so if you've been with the story for quite some time I'd suggest giving this chapter a re-read. The new comic kind of flipped some things around and I decided it'd be best if I were to adapt this to fit canon. Jack is much less of an asshole than he was originally depicted, and really I think it had turned out a lot better because of it._

Ch. 1

The Day Overwatch Fell

Jack Morrison

The fingertips of Jack's right hand gently danced over Gabriel's cheek. The Strike Commander cupped the other man's chin, pressing his palm into it. His thumb brushed one of Gabriel's raised scars. His stubble prickled the younger man's palm. Jack ran his thumb down Gabriel's caramel jaw, locking his print into the curve of his chin. He pressed, squeezing the lower part of his face. In reaction, Gabriel opened his mouth, tilting his head back slightly. A slight gasp escaped him. Jack could feel bone boring against bone, causing a slight ache due to the pressure exchanging from one man to the other.

Jack had Gabriel pressed against the wall. His right hand was holding his torso so that he would stay in place. It was situated on his chest with fingers dug into the grey shirt he was wearing. Gabriel had also been wearing a hoodie; however, that had already been stripped away during the precursor commotion that led to this moment. Gabriel was tensed at Jack's nearness. His hands were squeezed into fists, the muscles in his arms straining, making the veins in them visible against his dark skin. His neck looked the same and he tried to pull it away from Jack's grasp.

The two men were close. It was a closeness that would be uncomfortable for anyone other than lovers, or enemies. Jack's hip bone was pressing into Gabriel's. It was more grating bone against bone brunt pain that sent shock waves up the Strike Commander's body. His right leg was pinning down Gabriel's so that he couldn't escape the grasp. Gabriel's left hand was clutching Jack's shoulder; the nails of his pointer finger and thumb were digging into exposed skin on Jack's neck and collar.

"Jack," he muttered. It came across as almost a beg. There was so much emotion loaded into just the one name. Jack didn't notice though. He was too hyped up on adrenaline, and his heart was pounding too loudly in his ears to really hear the crack in his voice. Perhaps, that had been the problem from the beginning.

Gabriel tried to shift, but it just caused Jack to press against him harder, holding him into place. He forced more painfully into him, trying to restrain the movement. Jack wanted to look into his eyes and to understand him, or at least that had been his intentions when he'd started. He had gotten sidetracked, however. He squeezed his chin harder, his fingers rubbing across skin that was all too familiar. That whole situation was too familiar: the position, the growls rumbling from Gabriel's chest, and the feeling of his body against Jack's. It had just never been _that_ way before. Each time had been good, but this… this was bad.

"Jack," Gabriel said again. This time what seeped from his throat was a growl and it was laced with rage. It was a rage that became all too common. His intentions were clear. They would never be close in a good way again. Jack wasn't sure if he cared, at least not in that moment. Later the idea would sadden him when he would let the thought slip into his brain. Though, he didn't let that happen often.

Gabriel swung his fist, aiming the punch for his Strike Commander's face. Jack caught his arm and pressed it down between the two of them so that Gabriel's mobility was locked. Jack hooked his right leg under Gabriel's. He pushed it to the right, making him unstable. The pinned man growled, struggling against the younger man's grasp. Jack's hold on Gabriel's face tightened.

"That's enough, Reyes," Jack said. A bitter laugh ripped from Gabriel's chest.

"What? You can't even call me by my first name now?" he asked his friend in an angered tone.

"Stop the bomb, Reyes," Morrison replied. Reyes struggled once more, pushing his weight against his Strike Commander. He was in a bad position, however, and Morrison had leverage on him. He glared up into Morrison's bright blue eyes, his dark brown ones knitted in frustration.

"Fucking make me, boy scout," Reyes hissed, rage seething with every word. That had been the anger Jack had seen at Gabriel's worst and it was the anger that would make the entirety of his future. Reyes ripped his arm from Jack's grasp and wound up for another attempted punch. Morrison, in return, forced Gabriel's head back, slamming it hard into the window that Jack had been holding him against. There was a loud thunk and what may have been a crack. The hit had been a hard one, and it was enough to knock Reyes out cold.

Morrison released his former friend, taking a step back as he fell unconscious to the ground. He looked at him with frustration. Reyes was too hot headed. He had been when they were younger and more recently he'd started to fall back into the same anger that had plagued him in youth. Morrison hated seeing him like this. He was so much better...

Reyes had taken everything out of proportion. He'd let a few bad calls and growing tensions within the group influence his mind. Morrison wasn't sure if he had just become lost in his ways – if everything had just become too much for him. Reyes wasn't one to crack under pressure, but after everything that had happened to him it made sense. Still, Morrison would never have expected this kind of reaction. He couldn't imagine how he had finally been driven to the edge. What could have given him that final push? Why would he want to destroy everything and everyone he'd ever cared about?

Morrison turned away from his unconscious _former_ friend and moved to the computer console on his desk. He hit a few buttons, typing as quickly and as accurately as he could. He couldn't risk making a single mistake in this time sensitive situation.

"Authorization ID Required," the computerized voice informed hm.

"Authorization Strike Commander Jack Morrison, ID code 7698856B, Emergency Base Evacuation."

There was a pause of processing then the voice said, "Code accepted. Emergency Base Evacuation beginning."

Sirens began blaring outside Morrison's office, echoing down the metallic halls of the Overwatch HQ. Red lights flashed bright against the night sky outside.

"Everyone hurry," Jack murmured to himself. He could only pray that they'd all escape before the blast, and get out unharmed. Morrison turned from his computer, Reyes caught his eye. He was slumped on the ground, a small pool of blood building under his head. It seems Morrison had cracked his head open.

Reyes had come barging into Morrison's office. He was all hyped up and anxious. He was going on about something, trying to capture Jack's attention. It had been elsewhere, however, tending to something trivial. Morrison didn't listen until Reyes had slammed his hand hard down on his desk, capturing him finally. That was when the argument started. It was a heated bought of shouting and anger that lead to a physical fight.

Reyes had literally lost his mind. Gabriel Reyes had planted a bomb in the Overwatch HQ and intended on blowing them all up.

Morrison was unsure at the time as to why Gabriel had decided on telling him about it instead of _just_ doing it. Morrison had been unable to reach his friend for some time. Gabe had been absorbed into the shadows that were Blackwatch, and something _different_ had emerged - someone that wasn't his Gabe.

He had to get out of the building before the bomb went off – he had to save himself. Morrison took off towards the door. His office was on the top floor, and it would take him time just to get down to the bottom. It would take him longer to get out of blast radius.

"Damn it," he growled aloud to himself. "Why, Gabriel?" Jack paused. Gabriel. He turned to look at the unconscious man slumped on the floor, blood leaking down the side of his head. Before then he'd been running on autopilot – trying to assure his own safety. He forgot he should care about Gabriel.

Was he really just going to leave Gabriel there? Would he really condemn someone who he cared so much for to death?

But it had been Reyes' decision in the first place. He was the one who planted the bomb – the one who _wanted_ to kill Morrison. If he died it would be his own damn fault!

But Jack would never have turned his back on Gabriel before. They had been a duo against the world once. Despite what Reyes was becoming… Jack was a hero: the Strike Commander of Overwatch. He was the avatar of all that was good and just. Jack Morrison would never intentionally leave someone behind – especially not someone who was once his best friend... his… If not for his own personal connection to Reyes then he needed to be brought to justice. He should pay for what he had done, but not in the ultimate way.

Jack skidded to a halt. He spun around, looking back into his office.

"Damn it," he grumbled once again. He rushed back into where he'd come from, pausing in front of the unconscious body of Gabriel Reyes. He looked almost peaceful like that. The scowl that was ever present on his dark brown brow was resting. He even looked happy. Jack hadn't seen him like that in nearly a year.

Part of him wanted to leave him like that. His mind was at ease. Was it so bad to let him die like that? Actually happy.

The answer was yes, and Jack knew it.

Morrison knelt down, grabbing Reyes's limp arm. He pulled his torso forward and slipped his left arm under the unconscious man. He hoisted him up with a grunt and tossed him over his shoulder. Morrison huffed, struggling momentarily with the weight as he rose from his position. Reyes was 200 plus pounds of muscle and in his non-reactive state he was straight dead weight. Morrison shifted him so he had a good grip before rushing carefully from the office.

He had even less time now. He'd wasted so much because of his compassion. They'd be lucky if either of them got out alive, at this point. He had to try, though. He wasn't one to give up.

Morrison held onto to Reyes tight as he tapped the button to open the sliding door that led out to the 5th floor lobby. He waited for a moment, but nothing happened. He tapped the button again.

"Error," a robot voice spoke. "Key terminal locked."

"You have got to be kidding me," Morrison grumbled. He shifted Reyes slightly, typing in his ID code to unlock the door. He hadn't locked it initially, and Reyes had come in without bar earlier. He wasn't sure why it was malfunctioning now especially since an evacuation alert should have automatically unlocked all the doors in the building.

"Error. Pass code not authorized. Access denied."

A tinge of panic rose up in Morrison's chest. He shifted Reyes again, squeezing his ankle. In a rush, he tried the code again.

"Error. Pass code not authorized. Access denied."

"Damn it!" he growled. Morrison turned from the door, looking off in thought. This was no accident. Nothing was accidental with Reyes.

Vaguely, he remembered glancing up from his computer when Reyes had walked in the door earlier. He had sighed to himself, knowing that an argument would ensue from the Blackwatch Commander's presence. Reyes had paused, turning to hit the remote so that the door shut behind him since Morrison liked to keep it open.

Reyes had bitched at him multiple times for it in the past. "That's how you get assassinated," he would growl. Jack had never cared. He would just brush it off. Gabe was too protective and much too paranoid in Jack's mind. Still, Gabriel wasn't wrong.

Morrison had looked away. He knew Reyes's particularities even at a time where they didn't get along. He hadn't realized it in the moment, but in hindsight Reyes had lingered at the key pad too long. Of course it had been him who had sabotaged it.

Remembering this, Morrison typed in the Blackwatch Commander's ID code.

"Error. Pass code not authorized. Access denied."

"Damn it!" Morrison yelled once more. He was getting desperate.

There was no way Reyes had disabled all the access codes on his own. He wasn't exactly a hacker and he didn't have the clearance to do it through Overwatch channels officially especially not without the Strike Commander being alerted to the tampering. Someone else had to have disabled the pin pad. Someone who was helping Reyes… Someone who wanted Overwatch to fall…

Reyes had to have a way out. He had to have an escape route set up if there was no possible way to open the door. He was a smart man, and he would have planned ahead. He knew the place as well as Morrison. He had planned on confronting Morrison. He had planned on letting it slip, letting him know that the end was inevitable. He wanted to watch Morrison suffer one last time before everything was plunged into chaos. So he had to have planned to remove himself from a locked office.

Unless, he hadn't…

Morrison moved back into the center of the room. He looked around, possibilities rushing through him mind. Nothing, there was nothing; except… the obvious.

The window?

Morrison looked at the windows. They were a wall of slightly curved floor to ceiling windows that opened up to the courtyard below. Gabriel had always said Jack had the best view in the HQ.

"Nice and sunny," he had said, "a vision deserving of a golden boy."

"It is nice," Jack had responded, his eyes locked on the musing Gabriel. He had looked at the new Strike Commander and smirked.

"Shut up," was his teasing reply.

Morrison shook the memory. He glanced over at the unconscious man on his shoulder.

What had happened to him?

Morrison looked back at the windows. That was the only option. Had Reyes been planning on busting them out? No, not possible. They were heavy bullet proof glass, designed to protect anyone with a gun from firing on the group's leader. Even those heavy shotguns of his wouldn't dent it. No, he would have needed a specifically designed explosive to blast those out.

Morrison quickly cleared the contents from his desk, raking them in the floor. He laid Reyes down on the table almost gently. He looked him over.

The whole gesture brought back more memories that Jack didn't care to dwell on. Still, he couldn't help but remember how he cringed at his perfectly organized desk being swept into a heap on the floor. He was always a lot neater than Gabe.

"I'll put it all back," he had said begrudgingly when Jack frowned at him, "I promise."

Damn it. This was not the time. It was running out as is.

Morrison began searching Reyes frantically. He stuck his hand in each of his pockets, feeling around in their deep depths for something that he had smuggled in. There was a ton of pockets in those cargo pants of his, but they were all empty.

"Why are you doing this to me, Reyes?" he murmured under his breath. Morrison stuck his hand in the last pocket running his fingers down the silhouette of Reyes' thigh. Finally he felt a hard piece of cool metal deep in the final pocket. He pulled it out quickly and examined the object.

He recognized it. It was a type of controlled explosive designed specifically for infiltrating through heavy steel. He had used a similar type of bomb himself once or twice, and knew it'd work well on the bulletproof glass.

Morrison secured the charge onto the glass furthest from where Reyes was laying. He pressed a few buttons on the side, arming it. He hurried back to the desk, ducking behind it. The following explosion was a small, controlled one, but powerful. It shattered the bulletproof glass like it was nothing.

Reyes always had a strategy.

Morrison peeked over the desk as glass rained to the floor like a flurry of snow. He rose slowly and glanced at Reyes.

"Thanks for the getaway," he mumbled to the unconscious man.

Morrison moved to the broken window, looking over the edge. He could see people scrambling below, reacting to the blaring evacuation sirens.

In his mind he tried to remember who all was at the HQ. Lena and Winston were stationed at Gibraltar. McCree and Genji had gone AWOL months ago, abandoning the group… and the Blackwatch Commander. Angela and Torbjörn were the only two still at the base. He prayed they got away. Angela would stop to help as many people as she could. He hoped she could turn away long enough to get herself to safety.

At least Reyes hadn't disabled the evacuation procedures or locked all the doors in the HQ. But why hadn't he? He knew about the emergency broadcast, so why hadn't he sabotaged it so that it gave Morrison the same error as the door had? Why hadn't he committed to killing all those people? All those innocent people… Whatever had drove him to the breaking point it hadn't been any of their faults. There was still a good person in Gabriel even in his momentary lapse of madness.

Morrison glanced back at the still unresponsive Reyes. He laid flat on his desk with his legs dangling off the side. Blood still dripped from his head where Morrison had busted it open.

He looked back out the window. Morrison's office was on the top floor, and it would have been a long straight drop. However, there was an overhang two stories below. It would be a hard fall, but Morrison knew he'd be fine. He was tough. From there, there was a diagonal pillar that he could inch down till he got close enough to drop. There was a problem with that escape route though.

Morrison glanced back at his friend, still out cold. His heart ached despite everything. He clenched his jaw.

There was absolutely no way he'd be able to get Reyes down there without hurting him or himself. He would need all his grace in order to break his own fall, and with a large man on his back it wouldn't be possible. With all his upgrades there was just no way.

Fuck. Damn it Gabriel.

But if he had just kept his head level then this wouldn't have happened! If he had just tried to talk to Jack then maybe things could have been resolved.

Things had been falling apart for so long though. Morrison couldn't stop it.

Morrison knew he was going to have to leave Reyes behind.

In the past Jack would never have imagined leaving Gabriel behind. They would have died for each other – or died together. That'd always been the plan. Together to the end. Overwatch had found a way to kill that love, however. It, the pressure, the people, the duty… it was all too much. In the end, both men had lost so much saving the rest of the damned world.

Instead, he glanced away, looking wistfully at the sky that he'd seen every day for decades. Gabriel and Jack had looked out at it together back when things hadn't been so bad. He couldn't remember the last time that had been, but he knew it had been too long.

"I'm sorry, Reyes," he whispered, glancing one last time at his once closest friend.

For a moment, Jack considered sitting down, holding Gabriel tight and waiting for he end to come together. Just as they'd always planned.

He then turned away and propelled himself out the broken window. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up his legs from the impact. He tucked into a roll to help break the fall. He pulled himself from the ground and moved towards the pillar, limping slightly due to the pain in his legs. The sounds of the sirens mixed with screams of panic filled the air.

'Shut up and run,' Morrison thought to himself, his hand pressing against the wall to keep him steady. He limped quickly to the ledge, hoping that he still had enough time to get out of the blast radius.

"Leaving so soon, Jack?" _that voice_ called from behind him. Morrison froze, spinning and looking up to the window he had leaped from.

There stood Reyes. His hand was pressing against the edge like he was trying to hold himself upright. Blood trickled down the side of his neck, bleeding into his grey shirt. His brown eyes looked tired – like he was exhausted with everything. His cocky smirk told a different story, however.

"Reyes," Morrison said, his voice trailing off. He was always one tough bastard, and he had _the worst timing_.

"You were just going to leave me, huh?" he called to the Strike Commander.

"You're the one who planted the bomb! I had no other options!" Anger flashed on Reyes' face.

"You had plenty of options!" he screamed. "For years you had options. You could have made any choice, but it was never the right one! You ignored too much – let them use you."

"We can talk about this, Gabriel!" A deep and ominous chuckle carried down from the Blackwatch Commander.

"The time for talking is over, Jack, and you missed your opportunity," his tone was bitter.

"That's not true! You can still stop the bomb! You can still be a hero!" Another chuckle, this time more rueful.

"I wish that were true, boy scout. To be honest, though, the whole hero thing was never meant for me."

The sound of a helicopter caught Morrison's attention. He turned away from Reyes and looked up to see a black helicopter hovering in the distance. It wasn't one that he recognized, so he assumed it wasn't friendly. The dark outline almost blended with the night sky, and it would be invisible if the moon hadn't glinted off the cockpits glass. It just hovered, as if observing the HQ. The sounds of its propellers were muted among all the other commotion, but still defined enough. Morrison wondered how long they had been watching. He wondered who they were. Whoever it was… they were the ones working with Reyes, that much was obvious.

Morrison turned back to Reyes. "Why?!" he cried up to him.

"You know why, Jack." There was a tinge of pain in his voice, but it wouldn't have been obvious to someone who didn't know Gabriel as well as Jack did.

Morrison shook his head. He moved away from his escape and walked back towards the drop off points, staring up at his friend. He held out his hand to him.

"Come on, Reyes, jump down. We can still make it out of here! If you won't shut off the bomb, at least save yourself. We're wasting time arguing. Listen to me," Jack was almost begging. His heart beat hard in his chest.

"If only you had listened to _me_ ," Gabriel took a step away from the ledge. "It's too late."

"No it's not! Come on!" Jack strained his arm, trying to beckon the stubborn man. A somber smile spread over his mouth.

"Times up, Jack." Gabriel's brown eyes drilled into Jack's blue ones. It was a lock that was filled with so many different emotions: love, hate, pain, joy, rage, desperation. Gabriel crossed his arms, relaxing his body as he accepted his fate.

"Gabe!" Jack screamed out to him. There was just so much pain between the both of them. Gabriel's face fell at the gesture, and that's when everything went to hell.

The bomb went off.

For Jack everything went in slow motion. That's how it is with adrenaline. He just took everything in. There was a bright, blinding light that flashed. The intensity stung Jack's eyes, making them burn immensely. He moved to shield his face, but at the same time wanted to keep his gaze on Gabriel. He didn't want to lose him in the moment. He heard the bursting noise – the loud boom followed by the sound of metal being shredded by the force of the explosion. Gabriel reacted, his head turning to the right. The fire erupted out towards them, and Jack saw it envelop the man who had once been his everything. He spun around in an attempt to flee, but the fire caught him too, and everything went black.

The Overwatch HQ was completely destroyed in the explosion. Strike Commander Jack Morrison and Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes were both announced dead. Part of the world mourned the man who stood for all that was just. Part of it was glad that Overwatch's time was done for it had been the final straw. There was no point in its existence when it couldn't even keep itself from falling apart. The Petras Act was enacted, making all Overwatch activity illegal. The members that had remained spread to the winds, trying to find their place among the real world. The explosion was investigated, but ultimately they could only come up with a very accurate theory: it was simply an explosive argument between Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. It was a theory that none of the people close to them would dispute. They were gone, however. Overwatch was gone, so did it really even matter?

* * *

Three Weeks Later

He stood silhouetted against the shade of a distant tree, watching the people who gathered to mourn the life of Jack Morrison. He saw Morrison's friends and teammates mourning the lost man. Before that there had been a vigil of many people that Morrison's life had touched. People he had known and didn't know; a crowd of crying strangers. They had dissolved into a large funeral of a more personal manner. There had been a gun salute, trumpets, and the flying of flags; the honor of a soldier who had carried the world on his shoulders.

They hadn't found the body, but the wreckage had been cleared and the search called off. Jack Morrison had not been counted among the survivors or among the dead, but he was gone. It had been accepted.

Slowly, the funeral party broke up and the members disbanded. Two people moved towards where he was standing. He slipped back behind the large tree, hiding himself from the approaching couple. He could hear the two of them move in, and one of them leaned against the tree.

"How are you feeling, Jesse?" a Swiss female voice asked with concern.

"Absolutely terrible, thanks for asking," a southern accent drawled in response. He recognized the voices of Angela Ziegler and Jesse McCree.

Angela had rushed to help the wounded from the explosion - that much he knew. However, Jesse McCree had been M.I.A. for some time before the collapse, having resigned his Blackwatch position due to the internal conflict within the group. Had he returned to pay his respects?

"I'm really sorry about Commander Reyes… I know you two were close," Angela said sympathetically.

"Yeah…" there was a moment of silence. "I shouldn't have left."

"Why?"

"I feel like if I'd stuck around maybe I could have talked him out of being so fucking stupid." There was distaste in the cowboys tone. "But no, I just took off. He and Jack were havin' issues and I left him with no support."

"He understood."

"Did he? I mean… you don't think my total abandonment might have influenced this a bit?"

"No. He had lost all control of it and there was no telling what would happen. You know he valued you. He knew something bad was coming."

"Yeah…" there was more silence. "I just feel kinda responsible, ya know?"

"You shouldn't, Jesse."

"Can't help it, Angie." There was a thunk – the sound of McCree's head slamming against the tree trunk. "I just can't believe Reyes is dead…"

"I know… I'm going to miss him and Jack."

"I bet you're glad to be away from Overwatch, though," Jesse twanged, his tone shifting.

"It had gotten bad, Jesse."

"I know," his tone was matter-o-fact.

"Of course… It's better this way." McCree sighed, pushing himself off from his resting position. Smoke drifted from the other side of the tree and he stifled a cough.

"Yeah," the cowboy said, "I just wish it hadn't had to end with all this… death." There was silence and the ruffling of cloth, a light stomp noise and a bit of sizzling. McCree had but out his cigar. "C'mon. Let's go." Angela didn't answer. She led Jesse from the tree where he was still hiding.

He peaked around, watching the duo retreat. Angela looked strange in black. She was so angelic that only white could compliment her right. Black contrasted greatly with her light hair and bright complexion. Jesse just looked tired. His suit was wrinkled and untucked, hanging lazily. He wasn't even wearing his trademark hat. McCree and Angela grew smaller, and finally he decided to come out of his hiding place.

He walked over to the empty grave where a plaque had been placed. He stared down at the name, "Jack Morrison," and sighed. He wondered about Gabriel Reyes and where he would be buried. He had been branded, "at fault," but he was still a veteran and a long term member of the organization. Of course it wouldn't have been in a big paraded vigil like Morrison's, but it had to be somewhere… somewhere unknown. Tears welled up in his eyes, thinking of the man he was and the man he had lost. Slowly, Jack Morrison turned away from his own grave and walked into the distance.

* * *

 _AN: This story is going to be one that focuses primarily on the relationships and emotions of the Overwatch characters though it will feature action and lore exploration. As this is being written I will be running off the established canon, though, as with any fan fiction canon will be enacted in and of itself. I will try to adapt to lore that will play out, but if it contradicts what I've put into place as my stories canon, I will disregard it. As long as it fits it will be adapted into it. I'm going to be dealing with some pretty major events in this story, as you can see from the finished chapter, and creating some of my own. Let me know if you see any canon discrepancies or character personality issues, so that it can be fixed, please. This will be a multi character and multi time period story (jumping between characters and times periods between chapters). Each time period may hold its own separate story, so I hope it doesn't get too hard to follow because of that. I will be looking into both 1_ _st_ _omnic crisis timeline, golden Overwatch timeline, and post-recall timeline (probably where most of the story will take place). I will be dealing with multiple ships, as well, considering this is a fan fic focusing on romance. So far as I've established in my head I'm definitely going to be doing Hanzo x McCree and Reaper x Soldier 76. I'm considering a Genji and Mercy storyline as well and perhaps others, so if you'd like to see me adapt something specific please let me know and I will take it into consideration._ _J_ _Any and all reviews help! Thanks for reading!_

 _Also I'm starting this with a T rating, but it may get bumped to an M rating if I decide to make the sexual content… explicit. Other than that alls we gotta worry about is cursing!_


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

Six Months after Overwatch's Recall

Genji Shimada

Genji sat perched on the wooden bench with his legs folded carefully one over the other. It was a position that would have been difficult for someone without his sense of balance, but it was a precariousness that he preferred. The breaking sun pooled through the large windows of the dining hall, glinting off Genji's metal body. He watched intently at the sunset, absorbing what warmth he could on his face where the mask plates had been pulled away. He enjoyed the sun rise. It was such a peaceful time of day. The whole Watchpoint was silent aside from the waking of birds, and it was excellent for meditation. Normally, he would be outside to take it all in as best he could, but that day he was waiting for the other Overwatch members to join him. It would be some time, however. No one rose as early as Genji did.

It had been a few months since he decided to join the newly reformed Overwatch. It was still a skeleton of what it had once been back in its glory, but Genji liked it that way. Back then things had been too political – too shadowy. It was a force of nature blowing over all who stood in its way… like the Shimada clan. Perhaps, it had been allowed to go on longer than was wise. Now, however, it had a purpose to serve. It was trying to restore order and save innocents from immense dangers, just like its original intention. It was a goal that Genji aligned with. It was a necessity and for that he had rejoined the group he once was wary of.

Genji froze, reacting to the distant noise of a door shutting. His mechanical body tensed, ready to move into action if it was necessary. It was still rather early for one of his companions to be awake. He listened as soft footfalls moved towards him. He didn't move an inch as his senses read the situation. There was a light, feminine sigh as the guest approached. She rounded the corner and Genji heard a startled gasp. He turned to look at who had joined him.

She was a small girl in her early twenties. Her skin was light, and her blonde hair cropped short. She recoiled in anxiety, reaching up to scratch her arm as she gazed at the cyborg ninja, her wide blue eyes looking him over.

Genji recognized the girl as Mikayla Williams, a young American girl. She had joined the group after her and a few others were rescued from a Talon attack a few months ago. The girl had volunteered on staying, wanting to repay the group for her life. She was one of the few base crewmembers that they had. The heroes spent a lot of time away and were severely busy with saving the world and all, so a few employees stayed around for janitorial or engineering purposes. Mikayla was one of those who tidied up around the compound. Back in the day there was a few compliments of those sorts of workers. Now, they just had enough to get by. The heroes even cooked their own meals, for the most part. With the mix of cultural backgrounds every dinner was like eating in a different country.

"Oh," the girl gasped, "I'm s-sorry, Mr. Shimada. Uh, I mean… Sh-Shimada-san. Is that right? Oh, uh…" Genji chuckled.

"Just Genji is fine," he said. He had never been one for formalities even back in Japan. Still, he found amusement in westerners' anxiety around offending him. He had found even more amusement when they fumbled around his brother who would have demanded the correct title. That was a long time ago, however.

"R-right. I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone would be in here. I just came to mop," Mikayla said with a squeaky voice.

"Go right ahead," he said gently. "Am I in your way?" She looked him over, observing his folded legs that didn't touch the floor.

"No, no! I was more worried about bothering you!"

"You are not," he assured. "Do your job, don't mind me." The girl nodded vigorously and went to get her things. Genji looked back out the window; he closed his eyes and began lightly meditating.

He could hear the girl moving about the room, but for the most part phased out the sound from his mind – tricking himself to thinking he was alone. It was relaxing, but he could still feel her eyes drilling into him. He assumed out of curiosity. Many people looked at him that way – he was a rare type of person: a hybrid of human and omnic. People outside of the core Overwatch group observed him with levels of disgust and interest. He did not care what people thought of him – he was at peace with himself.

The girl held her gaze on him. He could hear the mop brushing across the floor, but the feeling was unmistakable. He snapped his eyes open, pinning them on her and she flinched, realizing she had been caught. Genji didn't even wait for her nervous defense before saying, "It's ok to be inquisitive." She blinked at him for a moment.

"It just… occurs to me that I've never seen your face," she said. It made sense to him; he had never said much to her or been around her for an extended amount of time. "I-I didn't know you had one."

"I am not… all cyborg," he replied. She nodded.

"I knew that… I just didn't…" she trailed off. "How much of you is…?" He half-smiled.

"Enough," was his simple answer. She nodded once more, and looked intently at her mop. He could tell that she didn't want to pry further.

Mikayla was adorable, and as a young man she would have been something to pine after. He was not a young man anymore. The thought of any sort of relationship was not something that crossed his mind often, but when it did there was only one thing he wanted: total accepting love.

She turned her eyes away from him: her curiosity sated. She went back to her mopping, and Genji to his meditation. He hoped the floor dried before his friends came in; knowing some of them, they would stumble in half awake and fall on their butts. Hm, maybe he would prefer that it didn't dry – he could use a good laugh, after all.

It was another hour or so before the first Overwatch member stumbled in. Genji flicked open one eyes upon hearing the tired groans. He watched in amusement as McCree trudged into the hall, tiredly carrying a bagel. He wore a simple t-shirt and was missing his signature hat to cover his messy brown hair. He was clearly too tired to care about his appearance at the moment. He flopped beside Genji with a huff.

"I dunno why you needed us up this early," he grumbled. The ninja smiled at the cowboy.

"It's been quiet and I figured an old fashioned breakfast would be a nice bonding moment." McCree groaned.

"Maybe… lunch or somethin' next time?" His reply was a chuckle. McCree took a tired bite of his bagel as Tracer sprinted in with a big smile on her face.

"Sorry, I'm late, luvs," she said happily. "I went on a morning run!" She plopped down in front of McCree who sighed in reply.

"Two too many mornin' people," he moaned. "And just how're you late?"

"It's eight ten! Genji said eight."

"Oh, wow, ten minutes."

"Don't mind him," Genji interjected.

"I know, he's a grumpy goose in the mornings," Lena said smiling. She snatched the cowboy's bagel and took a bite of it.

"Hey! Get your own…" She giggled, holding it away as he tried to snatch it back.

Genji had to admit it was nice being back around with people who had once been his friends. He had spent a lot of time in isolation with only Zenyatta as company, and while it was something that pleased him greatly, a part of him found much joy in socialization with old peers.

As the trio sat at the table – Genji and Lena chatting while McCree rested with his head in his crossed arms – the final invited member joined them. Pharah sat down beside Tracer, a groggy look in her dark eyes. She had never been an Overwatch member prior to its destruction, but she had been a large part of their lives for a long time. She'd been strutting around the HQ since Genji could remember, and had even been babysat by a teenage McCree and Mercy as a child. Still, she was new in title, and Genji felt the need to include her especially with her mother's obvious absence to the organization.

Lena was the first to answer Winston's call, having been with the recalled Overwatch since day one. She had been young when it failed and hadn't been with the group for as long as the others were. She saw the good even when she had been part of one of the worst stains on its reputation: the science experiment that plunged her into time.

Genji and McCree joined relatively the same time about three months prior. Genji and Zenyatta had both found the omnic conflict growing more and more troubling. Genji decided that as things looked more dire that perhaps Overwatch was the best option, and Zenyatta had followed in agreement. Genji had been glad that his master came with him; it was an assuring feeling to have him around.

McCree joined up after coming across a Talon attack in Mexico. It had been the second one he'd been involved in and found it disconcerting. He'd never really fancied himself a hero – not like his friends had been. However, he couldn't stand by and watch innocents get slaughtered by the terrorist group any further. Especially not when some of those terrorists had the voices of people he recognized.

Fareeha had been the last out of the group. She had joined up very recently after getting leave from her post at Helix Security. Initially, she was thrilled by the idea of finally being able to join up with the group her mother had devoted her life too. However, she had found her duty to the company to overshadow her own ambitions. She stayed with them until Overwatch specifically requested her help. The company, having experience in the danger of rogue AI's, obliged. Pharah was a great addition to the growing team.

"Is he alive?" Fareeha asked, eyeballing McCree. He grumbled in conformation of life. She wasn't much of a morning person either, but at least she was responsive.

"He's just sleepin'," Lena said in her peppy tone. She held out half the bagel towards Fareeha. "You want some bagel?"

A groan rose from the heap of man on the table. "That's mine," he twanged. Pharah took it anyway.

"Thanks." She took a bite, coaxing a tired moan from McCree.

"Perhaps, we should get him some coffee?" Tracer questioned.

"Let him walk it off like a man," Fareeha objected. She shoved him on the arm, knocking him into Genji. He chuckled, pushing the cowboy up straight. McCree shook his head, sighing, and rubbing his eyes.

"You're worse than Talon," he mumbled, staring down Pharah. She smirked slightly before taking a dramatic bite of the bagel Lena had stolen.

It was a fun morning, one that Genji cherished. It was a rarity to be able to just sit and enjoy one another's company. With all the rushing about off to missions someone was always occupied. Pessimists would see the silence a sign of something dangerous brewing. Genji liked to think of positives, however. If something big were to happen then they would deal with it. Until then he would bask in the glory of the calm.

* * *

After the group parted from the dining area Genji walked slowly across Gibraltar. He took in the crisp morning air and just relaxed. He had a destination in mind, but was in no rush to arrive.

He entered the med clinic through the front door, looking around at the patients lying in white beds. Moans came from their lips as they tossed in discomfort. One woman looked at him, and attempted to smile but flinched.

The med bay wasn't exactly up to hospital standards. It had been set up in what had once been a fuel storage area due to the lack of having a proper one on site. It was critical for the operation, however, and was a priority upon the group's official set up.

The patients who were there were victims of a Talon attack. They had once been in critical condition, but the advancement in Overwatch's medical expertise assured that they all had lived. It was a process, but Genji knew that they would soon be ready to go back into the real world or be transferred to a civilian hospital to continue their healing. Their beds would unfortunately be needed by others soon.

"You need not to move," Genji told the smiling girl. She had had one of her legs blown off in an explosion, but Genji had pulled her from the rubble. She enjoyed his visits.

"I'll try to be still," she swore. A prosthetic had been given to her, and her wounds were almost healed. Soon she would go back to her home country and be left to adjust to her new life in the local hospital. It was an ill-fated story that Genji understood more than anyone.

"You will be brand new soon," he assured, patting her gently on the shoulder. She smiled, leaning into his metallic touch. "I'm going to go see the doctor, now." She nodded, smiling once more at him.

Genji moved away from her, heading towards the stairs, but a voice coming from the other room caught him.

"Genji!" it called. He turned, bowing to the omnic who hovered in front of him.

"Hello, master," he said. Zenyatta bowed his head in return.

"You missed our meditation this morning."

"Yes, I was having breakfast with my friends."

"Of course. It is good to please the physical needs as well as the spiritual. No need for apologies, my student." Genji bowed again, his palms pressed together with his pointer fingers raised. Zenyatta turned to one of the patients. "I have been trying to give these poor souls a balm to their turmoil."

"They will be fine, master," Genji assured.

"Oh, _I_ know that, but _they_ are unsure. Go do as you were planning, I will be here."

Genji bowed once more before heading up the stairs. He opened the door to the only room that had been adamantly redone to support all the technology that was required to support the level of healing that was needed for the Overwatch group and the people they rescued.

"You're all done," she said, leaning over the patient and holding a metallic device over her. The little girl sniffled.

"Can I go home now?" he asked.

"Soon. With the other patients," she swore. The little girl sat up and she checked the arm that had once been mangled and face that had been burned. She looked almost brand new. Her arm was back to normal and, though she had trouble flexing her fingers, it had been assured that she would have full mobility soon. Her face bore light scars, but she could still see out of the right eye that had been nearly blinded, and they were so bright.

"Thank you Dr. Mercy," the girl chimed, smiling up at the blonde haired woman who had been caring for her.

"You're quite welcome, Laura, go downstairs now," she responded. The girl nodded, jumping up and rushing from the bed she'd been lying on. She paused at Genji, taking in the scars on his face. She touched her own.

"Did Dr. Mercy help you too?" she asked. Genji smiled, leaning down a bit.

"Yes, she did." The girl looked him up and down.

"Can I have a cool cyborg body too?" she asked. Genji chuckled and Angela rushed over to shoo the girl away, but he held his hand up to stop her.

"I would not suggest it," he replied. She nodded, accepting what he said without question.

"Kay!" she shouted before leaving the room.

"Sorry about that," Angela said, shaking her head. Genji shook his head in turn.

"It's not a problem," he assured. "It's good to see they're doing well. I was worried, seeing how bad the explosion was."

"They'll all be going home soon," she confirmed.

"That is good to know."

Genji walked around the room in a semi-restless way.

"It is so dark in here – so artificial."

"It was a store room," Angela pointed out. She picked up a tablet and examined it.

"We need to get you a window."

"I don't think that is a priority, Genji." Angela smiled at him, showing her beauty.

"Then maybe you should come outside more." She squinted at the words she was reading. "You need some fresh air. I asked you to join us this morning." She looked at him sympathetically.

"You know I'm busy."

"You have other doctors under you, Angela." He knew she felt the need to assure everything was going right herself, and that she hated surrendering control when she went out on missions. She felt that if she let it fall into the hands of someone less skilled and that person made a mistake that it would be her fault because she hadn't just taken care of it herself. He understood, but he felt badly that she worked so hard. "Don't make yourself suffer." She glanced up at him pensively.

"Genji, I can't." He nodded.

"Everyone downstairs is fine, and Zenyatta is watching after them. You will be ok walking with me for fifteen minutes." He offered her his hand. She stared at him for a long time before sighing.

"Okay, okay. For you." She took his hand and moved towards the door, shrugging off her white coat as she did so.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, leading her from the dank little room.

* * *

Angela Ziegler had fondly left Overwatch behind. She was fine helping others on her own. She liked what she did without the violence that Overwatch displayed. She had never intended to return to the group… until she, herself, was targeted by its enemies. Had it not been for Genji and Overwatch, she would have been dead, and she owed them. It did give her a chance to help to the greatest extent once more, and she recognized the purpose to be a good one. She'd only joined up a month back, but had quickly fallen into the routine of head doctor. It was a roll she remembered well.

"It is so lovely and quiet," Angela commented. They had been walking around the outdoors of Gibraltar, taking in the air and the silence that was normally not present.

"I knew you would enjoy it. You should meditate with me some morning. There is nothing more relaxing." Angela giggled.

"I don't think I could get up in those precarious places you like to sit."

"We could find a nice view on the ground."

"In that case, I think it would be nice." She looped her arm in Genji's and leaned against him slightly.

They were heading back to the clinic. They had been on the far end of Gibraltar, away from the compound. As they came back into the populated area an alert blared over the loud speaker.

Athena's voice said, "Alert. Intruder detected in hanger bay." It was a recorded message on repeat.

"Oh my," Angela said.

"We should go see what all the commotion is," Genji stated.

The two walked quickly through the roads of the base, moving into the hanger area. Genji kept his speed under check so that Angela could keep up with him. As they passed through the doors and moved past the crates tossed about the floor they came to a shuttle where a group was crowded. Genji pushed past some of the workers and lower level Overwatch members. He held Angela's hand, pulling her behind him, and allowing his body to part the sea of spectators for her. When he got to the front he could see some of the other heroes. Reinhardt was standing back away from the others, watching.

"What is happening?" Genji asked him.

"Someone stowed away on one of the shuttles. He has a weapon," he answered.

Genji moved forward, looking where Swedish shouting was emanating from. Torbjörn, Fareeha, and Lena stood around. His eyes trailed the group then moved up to the man they were cornering. His gaze met the same intense dark brown eyes that he knew so well. Genji's own eyes widened.

"Brother," he murmured.

Hanzo was pinned up against the far end of the shuttle. His body was stiff with his fists balled to his sides. He had a glaring expression on his face. Torbjörn was centered in front of him with his rivet gun pointed up at Genji's brother. Fareeha was to the side, tensed and cautionary. Lena was on the other side, looking worried and trying to cool the situation.

Hanzo looked much different since the last time Genji had seen him. It was a shift that both confused and impressed Genji. He could almost feel it in his soul… like he'd somewhat changed on a deeper level. Though, he wasn't sure exactly what had brought forth the transformation.

Since their last violent meeting Hanzo had adapted his appearance in a strange way, one Genji would not expect. He had shaved the sides of his hair, though he kept it still long in length. His brother had always been overly fond on his hair in some semi-secretive way. He had it pulled up into a bun at the back of his head. He seemed to have shed his traditional Japanese clothing, and was now wearing a simple jacket. Most curious was the piercings he'd gotten: a bar through the bridge of his nose and a ring in each ear.

Hanzo's eyes stared into Genji's.

"Hello, brother," he said in their native language.

"Genji?" Angela questioned, looking at him in interest. Everyone's stares fell on him.

"This is yer brother?" Torbjörn shouted.

"Yes," Genji answered. The engineer turned back to the man before him.

"The same one who tried to kill ya?!" Genji's eyes bored into his brother. It was a lingering gaze that did not break.

"Yes."

"Then let's get some revenge!" The small man forced his gun up, pressing it into Hanzo's chin. He grunted, turning back his head.

"No!" Genji exclaimed. He moved forwards to stop him.

"Torbjörn," Angela scolded in a disappointed tone. He grumbled and stepped away, moving back some so that Genji could get close.

Hanzo shook off the confrontation, but he scowled down at the small man.

"Imp," he hissed.

"Why I outta…" Torbjörn began to shout, but Lena grabbed his arm.

"Calm down, Torby," she pipped.

Genji moved towards the group, but was cautious. He kept a semblance of distance. Angela followed him in his approach, watching for signs of confrontation. The glare shared between brothers was an intense danger zone, and it was best not to get caught in the crossfire.

"What are you doing here, Hanzo?" Genji questioned in English so that the rest of the group could understand.

"To see you, Genji," Hanzo replied in Japanese, not caring for the comprehension of the others.

"Is this going to be a pleasant visit, or a mimic of our last?" The archer looked around at the others in the room.

"That depends on your friends," he replied in English this time. Genji slowly moved forward, cautious, but trying to be welcoming.

"I am always happy to have you, brother, my friends will be as well." Hanzo's eyes swept the area once more. They narrowed.

"That remains to be seen."

"He brought a weapon," Fareeha said, showing him the bow that she had disarmed from him when the archer had first been discovered.

"What is that dinky little ting, anyway," Torbjörn shouted, snatching it from Pharah. He twisted it around in front of him. "You call dis a weapon?!"

"Get your grubby little paws off of my bow," Hanzo growled.

"How you kill anything with it?" The archer knelt in front of him.

"Easily," he hissed with a deadly tone. He went to snatch it, but Pharah pulled him back.

"You are not to be holding it." Hanzo ripped his shoulder from under her hand.

"Don't touch me!"

Genji took the bow from Torbjörn. He gave Fareeha an assuring look. He didn't quite disagree with her, however. She may not realize how dangerous his brother would have been with his weapon, but he did. One split arrow in that confined space and the whole of Overwatch would be dead or wounded.

"This is for our safety," he told his brother. He could see that Hanzo wanted to snap, but their eyes met. The heat behind the brown irises died. He nodded.

"I understand."

There was some thumping from outside and voices. Everyone turned to watch as Winston pushed through the crowd, squeezing into the shuttle to see what was going on. Behind him trailed McCree, whose hand was resting on his revolver.

"Athena alerted us. What is going on?" Winston asked.

"Anyone need to be shot?" McCree asked, walking up behind him. Tracer giggled, racing towards the approaching two. Genji noticed his brother go rigid at the idea.

"I think Torbjörn has already called shootin' him," she said.

"No one is shooting anyone," Genji said.

"I am," Torbjörn demanded.

"Torbjörn," Angela said sternly.

"Alright. I gotta see the guy causing all this fuss," McCree said, stepping around Winston and moving towards the group. He turned his head, smiling a cocky smile. He wasn't worried at all about whom this intruder was, it was clear. However, as his eyes met Hanzo's, his smile fell. His eyes widened. Hanzo was tense under the cowboy's gaze. They stared long and hard at each other. Then a devastated gasp that was so quiet Genji could barely hear it, escaped his lips saying, "Hanzo."

Genji's eyes flicked to McCree, trying hard to understand if he'd really muttered his brother's name in familiarity. They went back to his brother, scanning to read any semblance of reaction. Hanzo was stone faced, knowing his brother's prying eyes. He hid his emotions well, and always had.

"You two know one another?" He asked whichever man would answer. Neither did, at first. The others hadn't seemed to have heard anyway.

"Who is this?" Winston asked in a whisper, needing to be caught up on the situation.

"Genji's brother," Tracer murmured.

"The one who tried to kill him?"

"The one and only," Hanzo butted in, growling and glowering. His gaze was like daggers. Winston blinked.

"Oh…"

Genji snapped his stare onto his brother.

"What are you doing here, Hanzo, _Really!_?" He demanded. His brother looked down. He sighed, a breath rolling from his lips. He looked back up and met his brother's eyes. Hanzo took a deep breath.

"I have come for your forgiveness." He bowed his head once more. He removed the quiver of arrows from his back, placing it at his brother's feet slowly. He knelt before him, sitting down on his knees and placing his hands on his legs. He hung his head in shame. Hanzo was a proud man, yet he was doing this in front of total strangers. He was committed.

"I have already forgiven you," Genji said sincerely.

"I am not worthy of any forgiveness you offer. I want to restore that. I want to redeem myself and return to my honor." Genji looked at him in sympathy. He felt as if he was being completely genuine.

"Why does that bring you here?" he asked. Hanzo kept his head down.

"You are the key to my fall and the key to my redemption. I have chosen to follow you."

"You want to join Overwatch?" Lena asked, confused. Hanzo ignored her. He looked back up at his brother, staring at him. Finally Genji repeated the question, "You want to join Overwatch?"

"I want to join _you,"_ Hanzo phrased. Genji didn't say anything, he just looked down at his brother. Then, Hanzo nodded. "Yes. I want to join Overwatch."

Genji was taken aback. He had never actually expected him to say it. There was silence among the group. Everyone was absorbing what was happening. The others were being respectful towards the brothers and the moment they had just had. The silence grew long and awkward. No one was saying anything. Hanzo had once again hung his head, simmering in his indignity. Genji was unsure of how to respond to his brother's request. He couldn't make the decision in a vacuum. He had other team members to consider, and they had a say in it just as much as he did. He knelt down in front of his brother.

"I would like nothing more," he said in Japanese. "But we must discuss it, and decide together." Hanzo nodded.

* * *

"We cannot trust him," Pharah said, pacing in front of the table.

They were in the meeting room at the far end of Gibraltar. Genji hadn't been in there much when he was with the group originally. However, the few times he had, he'd seen some intense arguments about potentially life changing decisions. He kind of felt like this discussion would mimic those; except it would be affecting his life the most. His stomach was tied in knots as he listened to Fareeha rant.

The group had retreated there to talk amongst themselves and come to a consensus in order to make the decision. They had been doing that with major choices in replace of an official leader. Back in the day Morrison, Ana, and Reyes, made the bulk of the decisions. They were all dead now, and the group was left without a capable person to guide it. Sure, some members were original, and others were long standing. None of them on their own had the experience or skill to lead correctly, however.

Genji was sitting on the far end of the table with Angela seated properly to his left. McCree was beside her, but he just stood with his back against the chair and his arms crossed. He had a pensive look on his face, like a cobra watching its prey. Lena was perched on the edge of her seat, looking hyper interested in what was going on. She still had the youthful enthusiasm for the group. It was something Genji admired. Torbjörn, Winston, and Pharah were on the far end of the table, standing. Reinhardt had volunteered to stay with Hanzo while the group debated. He had said, "Anything you decide will be fine with me." It was better than the alternative of Torbjörn's, "I'll teach the little werm some respect." Genji wasn't too comfortable having the two alone together. He'd rather one of them not end up dead.

"I don't see why not," Tracer defended. "He seems fun." Genji snorted.

"I don't know if I'd put my brother and fun in the same sentence," he said.

"He's an assassin," Fareeha said to Tracer. "He's tried to kill Genji before. Someone could have hired him to kill his brother again, or all of us, for all we know."

"We can't trust em!" Torbjörn added.

"He could be working for Talon." Genji didn't say anything. He was thinking, trying to decide if Hanzo would ever do such a thing. He wanted to hope that the answer was 'no.'

"Athena search for anything about Hanzo Shimada," Winston said.

"Right away," the A.I. responded. "Searching." There was a few seconds of semi-painful silence. It was like waiting for the results of a medical exam. Genji hoped that the results were positive. "There is very little about Hanzo Shimada after the fall of his clan. His name appears in a few emails, some regarding the assassination of himself. He has very little record of his own. His own calls and emails are few and far between. The locational ping shows him having been all over the world: Germany, France, and other areas but it seems he's been over a great deal of America."

"Any indication as to what he was doing?" Winston asked.

"Looking for someone, perhaps. There's no exact evidence to a specific reason."

"An assassination mark?"

"It's possible. However, of the information I have found there is nothing that mentions someone paying him as a professional assassin. It seems he's returned Hanamura on routine. He's returned to his ancestral home once about the same time every year. The last time was almost a year ago."

Genji looked away. He knew exactly why Hanzo was returning to their home habitually. It had been almost a year since their duel there – almost a year since he'd given his brother his words of forgiveness. It made so much since why he'd decided to turn up now. It was nearing the anniversary of the day Genji "died." He didn't envy his brother. He knew how badly he would hurt if they had switched positions.

"After that he left Hanamura, but stayed in Japan."

"Until now," Pharah said.

"It doesn't sound suspicious, does it?" Lena asked.

"Are ya kiddin'?!" Torbjörn shouted. "He's been killin' all over the world. The locations prove it."

"There is no correlation between his travels and any assassination," Athena pointed out.

"Genji, you traveled, didn't you? Before you found Zenyatta, I mean," Tracer clarified.

"I did. I was unsure of myself – soul searching."

"Well, it sounds like Hanzo was doin' the same!" she decided.

"Athena, keep looking into his background," Winston said.

"Yes, Winston," she said before going quiet.

"Where is Zenyatta, why hasn't he joined us?" Winston asked.

"I told him about the situation, and he said he did not want to influence my decision," Genji informed. He sighed. He really wanted his master's guidance now more than ever. He took a breath, trying to center himself.

"Genji," Angela said, drawing his attention. "How are you feeling? What do you think about all this?" He sighed, looking at his folded metal hands.

"I want to believe him."

"Do you think he'd betray you?" Genji would have always said no as a child. However, he had been proven wrong in the most tragic way. In truth, when it came to his brother, he was unsure.

"I do not know."

"Do you want him here, Genji?" There was no doubt in his mind.

"Yes. I want to try."

"Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Despite his reservation he felt deep inside his soul that everything his brother had gushed to him was true. Hanzo wanted to be redeemed and he saw Genji as the only way. It was a bit flattering. Genji had once looked up to Hanzo, and wanted to be like him as a child. Now, Hanzo was looking to Genji for guidance in his path.

"Yes," Genji answered affirmatively, "I absolutely do." Angela nodded at him, touching his metal hand.

"If you want him here then I vote that we allow him entrance," she said. Genji smiled solemnly at her. He had pulled his faceplate back down so that his teammates couldn't see how tired he was. This ordeal was draining.

"He's too dangerous," Pharah said. "I say no."

"Agreed! If ya don't want me to end up killin' him then I'd suggest him leavin'," Torbjörn howled.

"Aw come on. It's his brotha," Tracer said. "I think we should let him in. Don't ya think Winston?" Winston sighed, a big huff from the gorilla's lips.

"I… think that there are too many unknown variables to risk it. I'm sorry, Genji."

"What?!" Lena demanded. "I can't believe this, big guy!"

"Our organization is not the strongest right now. If we were to lose one of our most valuable agents," he looked at Genji, "it would put serious strain." Lena blinked at him, as if absorbing his words. She found truth in them. Genji looked down.

"I respect your opinions," he murmured.

"Jesse, you have been awfully quiet," Angela said, looking up at the cowboy. "What do you think?" For a moment he said nothing, just looking off at the wall. Then he spun around, looking at everyone pointedly.

"Ya wanna know what I think?" he said with a sharp tone. "I think y'all are being self-centered. As far as we know – and there's been nothin' to prove us otherwise even though you've looked for it – we have a man wanting to change. He wants to change and all y'all want to do is turn him away."

"We can't risk the operation," Fareeha said, but McCree held his hand up.

"I don't think one… _assassin_ … is going to undermine our whole group. You're just being dramatic if you think otherwise. What's life without a little risk?" He looped his thumbs in the band of his pants and paced. "Y'know I was in the same position once. If it hadn't been for Reyes finding somethin' worth savin' in me I'd still be running with gangs. I was a risk too. How's it fair for someone that was as big of an asshole as me to get a chance and not a guy who made one really big mistake and has spent the rest of his life sufferin' for it?" Everyone stared at him in thought. Genji had a lump of suspicion deep in his gut, but he didn't speak on it. "We need to give him a chance."

"But we can't just give someone so dangerous free reign of our base!" Pharah objected.

"No, but one of us can keep an eye on him," McCree said, crossing his arms. She snorted.

"Who would want to keep him around that much?" McCree looked around the room, his gaze lingering on Genji. He waited for him to say something, but Genji wasn't willing. He didn't see the point. If Hanzo was so untrustworthy that he had to have his little brother as a babysitter then they should not let him in. However, he appreciated McCree's commitment. The cowboy sighed.

"I'll do it then," McCree announced.

"You want to lead him around on a leash like a stray puppy?" Fareeha asked skeptically.

"No, but I can watch and make sure he ain't up to nothin'. I don't think we should lie to him though – make it seem like we trust him when really we're spyin'."

"What if we need you in the field though?" Winston asked.

"He can come with me. It'll be good practice for him."

"He'll be a distraction!" Torbjörn yelled.

"He's a grown man not a child. He don't need me takin' care of him. I'm sure he's more than capable of hanlin' himself." Everyone stared hard at him.

"I think that is reasonable," Winston said. Fareeha sighed.

"Yeah." Torbjörn just grumbled. A small smile cracked over McCree's face, but he tried to hide it quickly. Genji noticed.

"He's your responsibility though," Pharah reminded him.

"Yes ma'am," McCree groaned like a kid taking an order he didn't like. "There'll be no conspirin' under my watch!"

"It's official then!" Lena exclaimed.

"Hanzo can join," Winston confirmed.

* * *

Hanzo Shimada

Hanzo hated the idea of having a "sponsor" as the Egyptian had put it. He hated it even more that it was the _cowboy_. They said he was untrustworthy and the only way he could stay was if he consented to being _his_ charge. Hanzo wanted nothing more than to be there and to fix the mess he had made with his brother. He hated it…. Begrudgingly he accepted.

Hanzo didn't get awkward very easily, but as Genji and the cowboy walked him through the watchpoint, he felt his cheeks burning and not in rage. His brother hadn't said a word and the cowboy didn't know how to shut his twanging mouth. Hanzo glared at him, despising his presence. He wanted to be alone with Genji, but no… of course _he_ was there.

"This is the crew quarters. It's not really that big, so a lot of the people here have to sleep in big shared rooms, but all the important people get their own rooms." Hanzo snorted and rolled his eyes, but he didn't notice.

"It's funny that you think you're important," he grumbled.

"Jesse could you go make sure Hanzo's room is ready?" Genji asked, pausing. He looked between the two brothers.

"Yeah, I'll be right back," he twanged before strolling off. Hanzo watched him leave, his eyes narrowed but staring.

"You owe him," Genji said in Japanese, drawing his attention.

"Do I?" Hanzo asked, intrigued.

"He's the reason they allowed you to stay. He championed on your behalf." Hanzo squinted. He was curious as to why _he_ convinced them and not Genji. A part of him understood, however. He deserved to be turned away, truthfully. Perhaps, he should be grateful. Hanzo said nothing. "I want this to work out," Genji continued in his silence. "I want my brother back." He touched Hanzo's shoulder for a split second.

"As do I," he answered.

"Then you have to prove yourself. I know there is a good man inside you – you must come to peace with him to get back everything you've lost." Genji turned to leave.

"Genji," Hanzo called out with a spark of desperation. He looked over his shoulder.

"I will make you proud," he said. Hanzo couldn't see Genji's expression through his helmet, but he nodded.

"I know." With that Genji walked away, leaving Hanzo standing alone in the sad metal hallway. He wondered how many souls had passed between these walls and if they were good men and women. He wondered if he could live up.

"What happened to Genji?" the cowboy asked when he returned. He crossed his arms. That was the first time Hanzo noticed that he had a prosthetic arm. He wondered what had happened. "Oh no. You didn't kill him again did you? I turn my back for two minutes!" He was joking, but Hanzo was not amused.

"This is serious!" he hissed. He shot a deadly glare at him. The cowboy tossed his hands in the air.

"Right, right, sorry."

"Show me my room," Hanzo demanded. He shook his head.

"Yes, sir," he drawled.

He led Hanzo down the hall. He had fallen suspiciously silent and on occasion Hanzo could feel his gaze flickering over onto him. His eyes lingered and it was irritating him. He clenched his fists.

"Okay, here it is," he said, stopping in front of a door. "My room's right over there," he pointed to a room cattycorner to Hanzo's. "If ya need me my door's always open." It seemed like there was a double meaning to his words. He lingered, his eyes staring at Hanzo. He turned to open his door.

"Right," he said in an attempt to get him to leave. "My thanks." He hesitated opening the door, still feeling the cowboy's eyes. After a second he growled, "What?!" A few heartbeats went without words.

"Hanzo," he murmured. Hanzo turned around. He kept his hand on the doorknob, ready to flee if needed.

"What?" he asked again with just as much venom.

The cowboy's eyes tried to capture the archer's, but he refused the intimate exchange. Hanzo glared at his cowboy hat, instead. He had turned serious, giving up the talkative humor. There was so much familiarity there between them in that moment.

Why did it have to be _him_?!

"Hanzo," he drawled in that southern accent of his. "Do you… remember me?" when he asked the question that had so clearly been bugging him since that moment their eyes met in the shuttle, his voice cracked. There was so much emotion in his voice. It sounded like Hanzo's answer would make or break him. Hanzo had never intended on being anything but insolent. He knew that this would come up. However, the _pain_ that he heard changed his mind. He took a breath and finally met his eyes. The look made his heart skip a beat.

And then he said, "Of course I remember you, Jesse McCree." With that Hanzo slunk into his room, leaving McCree alone in the hall to process everything.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

One Month Prior: The Day Mercy Rejoined Overwatch

Angela Ziegler

Angela had made a mistake ignoring the alarms. She believed they had been false – it had happened many times before. For the most part, the scientists and doctors who worked in the labs didn't actually worry about a real attack. They had security, but it wasn't tight. They weren't a blip on the map – at least until Mercy had joined them. She didn't even know the size of the target on her back. She would have never expected anything bad to happen in that oasis... until the gunfire started.

Angela sat on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest. Her back pressed against the cold metal cabinet. Sticky sweat coated her pale skin as she gasped for air. Dodging gunshots was something she hadn't done in a very long time, and it was an exhausting task. She peeked around the edge of her cover, looking for a gun. There had to be something on one of the dead guards.

She saw an unfortunate man's body lying by the entrance to the lab donned in security armor. She recognized the guard as Amir Nabavi. He was a sweet man that Angela had had a few conversations with. He'd gone down quickly when the attack began. A surprise shotgun blast to the back of the head didn't give him a single chance. Angela felt intense pity. He wasn't the only casualty. Everyone in the room had been mowed down without mercy. She could see some of the scientist lying in pools of their own blood.

"Take out the rest of the compound," the assailant was ordering to someone in a deep sinister voice.

He seemed distracted, so Angela took the opportunity to dodge from her hiding spot to an adjacent one, moving closer to the gun. She wondered if anyone else in the room was alive. She had gotten down as soon as the gun fire started. She'd heard screams of agony and watched her friends fall while she cowered, unable to save them.

It was Talon, she just knew it. However, Angela couldn't quite figure out why they were there. In her experience, she wasn't sure if they need a reason.

Angela traced the length of the counter before dashing across to the next one. She prayed that any survivors just stayed put. This was her risk - her struggle. She neared the edge of the row. She was so close to the gun; she just wasn't sure what she'd do once she got to it. Violence wasn't her forte. She'd learned to protect herself, but had never put it into practice. Her teammates had always made sure she was safe.

"I know you're in here, little angel," the same deep, ominous voice hissed.

Angela paused in her rush, dropping down behind her cover. She took a breath, trying to contain her gasping so that the intruder wouldn't hear her.

She hadn't got a good look at him when the assault first started. He was just a… looming power of black and darkness, and he was leading a small compliment of troops. He'd sent them from the lab, to cause chaos elsewhere. She wasn't sure why he wanted to be left alone in the room, but from all she'd seen it was apparent that he was a force to be reckoned with. She was going to have to try.

"You were a hard one to track down without the Overwatch roster. You don't quite make as much noise as some of your other… former companions. You haven't been moving, though: war torn country with plenty of injured people in need of healing, as well as an accomplished research facility. Where else would Dr. Angela Ziegler flock to?" There was a deep laugh followed by a jarring explosion from his shotgun. Angela flinched, covering her ears and suppressing a startled scream. She heard glass shattering and raining down onto the metal floor.

Loud footsteps echoed across the room, thumping as he made his way around the tables, looking for Angela. Another gunshot rang out, shredding a counter across the room.

What did he want from her?

"Come out," he teased in a threatening tone.

Another gun blast shattered something across the room. A loud frightened scream responded. The assailant grunted, and sounds of thumping boots followed. Mercy risked a peek over the top of her cover. She saw the man storm towards the sound of the scream. He jerked down and ripped a small girl from where she was hiding. Angela recognized her as Amelia Lonette, a young English woman who had come to study medicine and technology. Amelia had been so excited to meet the famous Mercy when she'd first arrived. She screamed as the assailant effortlessly dragged her from her spot. He moved towards the center of the room.

"Shut up!" he hissed. He pressed his shotgun to the girl's chin as she continued to scream and kick in defiance. "Shut up or I'll pull the trigger!" Amelia stopped her struggle. Her body tensed as she sobbed, trying to get her face away from the barrel of the gun.

The aggressor was definitely a mass of black. He wore a flowing black cloak over black armor broken only by his white mask that was an appropriate hybrid of an owl's face and a skull. He was towering and muscular. Every ounce of him was menacing. Poor Amelia looked terrified. A silver talon twitched against the trigger of his large shotgun. A deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.

"So this is how it's going to go," he growled. "I'm going to count to three – no – five. I'm feeling generous today. If you haven't come out of hiding by the time I reach five then I'm going to pull the trigger and blow this pretty little girl's brains out."

"Mercy!" Amelia cried out. He chuckled.

"Riiiight," he drew out the word. "Mercy. Let's see if you live up to the name." And so the countdown began. "One." Angela wondered if she had time to make it to the gun. If she was to just dash to it then she could arm herself before he finished counting. "Two." But what if he saw what she was doing and shot Amelia? "Three." There was always the possibility that Angela revealed herself and he just shot Amelia anyway. Then he'd kill Mercy too. "Four." No, it was worth the risk. There was no way she would abandon Amelia now. She had already let too many die. Talon was here for her, so they would get what they wanted. It was better than all the others dying. "Five."

"I'm here!" Angela said, jumping up. She raised her hands in the air in surrender. "You can have me just let her go." The man chuckled.

"Hey there, Dr. Ziegler." He tossed the girl onto the ground and lowered his shotgun. "Nice of you to join the party."

"Get out of here, Amelia!"

The girl scrambled to her feat, obeying Mercy, and dashed past her attacker heading towards the door. The man stared after her for a moment, watching her try to get away. Slowly, he raised his shotgun, aiming it at the girl, and pulled the trigger. Amelia hit the ground with a grunt.

"No!" Angela screamed out, dashing towards her. His shotgun pointed at her.

"Uh uh," he said. She froze, staring at his mask in anger.

"Why?!" she demanded. He shrugged.

"Finger slipped."

Angela could feel tears welling in her eyes. This was her fault. She brought these people here. She just wasn't sure why.

"What do you want from me?!" The man took a few steps closer to her.

"Revenge," he growled like a feral animal.

"I've never harmed anyone!" The assaulter ran his free claw over the edge of his mask.

"You have no idea how wrong you are, _Mercy_." He tensed his gun. "You have absolutely no idea how much harm the technology you've created for… _good_ has actually harmed." That was something that had never crossed her mind.

"If that's ever happened that wasn't my intention," she defended.

"Maybe, maybe not. I've been looking for you, though, doc. Now, I'm about to get what I want." He took a few steps forward, shotgun pointed at her face.

"I don't even know who you are," she stuttered. The assailant chuckled.

"I… am the Reaper." The way he hissed the name caused a chill to go up her spine. She just wanted to understand why before she died.

"But who are you under that mask?" There was a moment of silence between them.

"Someone who is going to kill you," she could almost hear an evil smile in his voice. Then he pulled the trigger.

Angela wasn't accepting her death. She felt it coming, like a sixth sense. She dropped down behind the table, and the buckshot either hit the wall behind her or embedded into the desk. She pushed up, shoving off her knees. She pushed herself forward, moving with momentum towards the dead guard. She heard another gunshot bang off. Angela dropped to the ground desperately grabbing for the gun that was at his belt. She spun, aiming the gun with every intention to kill this man. When she pulled the trigger the bullet hit no man. Instead, it hit the distant wall. Reaper was gone.

"What?" she asked aloud. "Where did he… go?"

Slowly, as the words left her mouth, she felt a cold sensation against her neck. It was painful and freezing, like the embrace of death itself… or himself. Her breath hitched in her throat. Black smoke wrapped around her, chilling her body to the core. Tendrils of inky blackness rose before her, stacking up in front of her. It formed the shape of a human. The tightness on her neck tightened becoming something solid. She could feel five cold knives poking into her delicate skin as the hand became tangible. The man who called himself Reaper materialized before her like some sort of apparition come to earth. She gasped both in shock and in pain. He lifted her from the ground by her neck, choking the breath out of her.

"The Angel of Death and the Angel of Life… how _poetic_ ," he spit the word. He squeezed her neck tighter causing his claws to dig into her skin. She could feel blood trickling from the wounds. "You might try to stop it, little girl, but death comes to all." He paused, a rumbling chuckle booming from his chest. "Even you."

Mercy grabbed his wrist, gasping for breath. She tried to kick him, but the blows did nothing and after a few moments she was too exhausted to continue. All oxygen had escaped her and her vision was starting to fade into darkness. She was going to die.

A sudden flash of silver broke the monotony of black and white. It was a gleaming ray of beauty among the mute darkness that was taking over her oxygen starved brain. She hit the ground, and gasped. Sweet air filled her lungs, refreshing her weakened body. She blinked her eyes, clearing away the black spots. She breathed in big gasps of air, trying to focus her brain on the scene before her.

Between her and Reaper stood her knight in shining armor – or ninja in shining cyborg body. He was in his fighting stance, his left hand on his wakizashi and his right holding his shurikens. He stood close to Angela, ready to leap at a moment's notice.

"Genji," she gasped.

He didn't break his focus on the enemy, but he replied, "Greetings, Angela. I thought you might like some assistance." Angela's heart ached. She hadn't seen Genji in so long. He was a lovely sight.

"The cyborg," Reaper growled. He plucked a shuriken from his shoulder, tossing the throwing star on the ground. It was coated in a strange toned blood. "Two for the price of one – it's my lucky day." Reaper was unarmed. His shotguns were lying on the ground nearby, yet he was still confident in his position. After seeing what he can become Angela could imagine why.

"It's an honor to finally make your acquaintance, Reaper. I've heard a lot about you," Genji bantered.

"From the monkey?" he growled. "Hmph."

"You failed then and you'll fail today." Reaper reached into his coat, pulling two large shotguns from its void. They were identical to the one's he had earlier. Angela wasn't at all sure where they had come from, deciding that there was no way that they fit in his cloak naturally.

"We'll see," he growled, pulling the trigger.

Genji flipped in the air, leaping over the buckshot. Angela flinched, hoping it didn't hit her. The gun had been pointed up, however, and missed her. She scooted back, moving away from the ensuing fight. Genji tossed down a triad of shurikens at his opponent, but Reaper moved to the right, floating like a ghost. He shot up into the air, trying to hit the ninja with blasts from his dual shotguns. None of them hit. Genji landed deftly on his feet. He pulled his wkizashi from its sheath and deflected a few of Reaper's shots back at him. Reaper burst into smoke, allowing the bullets to fly through his body. When he rematerialized Angela could see dark blood leaking from his stomach where a few of the pellets had hit before his evasion. He growled, tossing his empty shotguns on the floor. He pulled two more from his coat. Angela was confused. She wasn't sure where they were coming from. Genji pulled his katana from his back. He dashed at Reaper, brandishing his sword. He swung, cutting Reaper across the chest and causing him to roar out in pain. He dashed past him, spinning around and cutting him across the back. Reaper spun, firing his left shotgun right into Genji's stomach. Genji seemed to just shrug off the damage, but Angela was instantly anxious. This was going to end badly. Genji brought his sword back down. Reaper threw up his arm, catching the sword in the flesh of his forearm. He grabbed the blade with his free hand. A kick to Genji's legs unsteadied him and Reaper managed to disarm him from his katana. He tossed it across the room. Genji immediately recovered, springing up into the air and throwing out a line of shurikens. Two of them hit Reaper, one in the arm, one in the chest, though it didn't seem to faze him. As Genji moved in an arch through the air one final time, Reaper managed to line up a good close range shot. Genji had been going in for a slash with his wakizashi, but the blast caught him off guard. He was fast, but not always fast enough. The shotgun blast hit him in the torso at a point blank range, and the force caused him to go flying back into a pillar. He hit it with a hard grunt and fell to the floor.

Angela was horrified. She wasn't exactly sure what to do, but she had to do something. Reaper focused in on Genji who was sprawled out on the floor. He was gasping, trying to push himself up. He just ended up crouched on the floor, holding up his damaged torso but unable to fully rise. Reaper recovered Genji's dragonsword from across the room. He was moving in on Genji, and not paying attention to Mercy across the room. Angela didn't want to make too much noise at risk of pulling the mercenaries fire onto her. She scooted across the floor, moving with a steady but cautious pace. Reaper kicked Genji in the stomach causing him to grunt. He pushed the ninja's body over so that he was lying on his back on the ground. Reaper loomed over him like the shadow of an approaching death.

"I'm going to kill you with your own sword," he hummed like it gave him pleasure. "Is this what your brother did to you – impalement?"

"Don't speak of my brother!" Genji defied. He tried to rise once more, but a kick to the helmet put him back flat on his back. Reaper laughed maliciously.

"Why? He doesn't care about you. He tried to kill you." He brought the sword up, holding the hilt in both hands with the point aimed down at Genji. "You are meaningless."

He was just about to fulfill his execution when Angela reached her goal. She grabbed the gun she had dropped earlier. She raised it, pointing it at the midnight back of their assailant. She took a breath and pulled the trigger. She unloaded the clip into Reaper, causing him to howl out in pain. He jerked around, facing Mercy. A growl cut through the air. He was about to turn and go after her, seething in rage, but Genji used the moment to his advantage. He rose, using Reaper's distraction to rip the katana from his hands. His deft fingers, tearing the hilt from Reaper's iron clad grip like it was nothing. He leveled the sword on his left arm, getting a good angle; it was a quick movement like he'd done it a million times before. He thrust the sword forward, impaling Reaper in the same way he'd intended to impale Genji. Angela could hear the shock in his gasp. He doubled over, grabbing the wound in clear agony. Genji retracted the blade, leaving a large, bleeding hole in the mercenary's stomach and back. He coughed and wheezed as he inhaled. Black blood was leaking from where the sword had been. He stumbled back. He glanced at both Genji and Angela before growling, "Your day _will_ come." Reaper moved backwards away from Genji and towards the exit. Slowly his body began to dissipate, turning into inky black smoke. The smoke moved through the exit, whipping like a plague of locusts in ominous harmony. Reaper was gone, escaping from the room with Mercy and Genji too hurt to try and stop him.

As soon as he was gone Angela hopped off the ground and rushed over to Genji. He was leaning back against the pillar, his arm draped over his stomach. She dropped down next to him.

"Genji," she said worriedly.

"Good to see you Angela." He shifted, making a grunting noise as he did so.

"Genji, you're hurt," she said. He groaned.

"So are you." Genji motioned to her arm. She looked down and noticed that blood was trickling down from her shoulder. She must have been grazed by some buckshot and hadn't noticed in the rush of the fight. It stung: a feeling that came with the realization of the wound. However, she wasn't worried about herself.

Angela ignored him. Instead, she removed his visor. His brown eyes met hers. His eyebrows were knitted in a semblance of pain. She pressed the release for his face plate, removing it from over his nose and mouth. He smiled an aching smile at her.

"Deep breaths," she told him. It wouldn't help. Genji didn't breathe on his own. His lungs had been too badly damaged after his fight with Hanzo. A mechanical device did it for him – just as it did for most of his bodily functions. She just thought the motion might relax him. "You're going to be fine." She touched his face gently.

"I don't think I was hit anywhere vital," he said.

"You can't know that. Your metal body should protect your human organs and mechanical components, but you could still be bleeding. I can't tell." She checked the shotgun wounds, looking at the deep craters it had left in his metallic body. Genji took her hand.

"I'll be fine," he assured her, confidently. Mercy looked down at the gesture.

"It's been too long, Genji," she whispered.

"Much too long, Angela," he replied. His brown eyes shined. She pulled her gaze away, refocusing on his wounds.

"I need my staff."

"Where is it?"

"In my quarters. I must go get it, but I don't want to leave you."

"I'll be fine."

"No you won't. If _he_ comes back… I won't leave you." Genji chuckled. "Did anyone else come with you?"

"Jesse and a few foot soldiers. They went to secure the rest of the compound while I searched for you. I was hoping I'd get to you before Reaper did – I was too slow."

"If you were too slow I would be dead. You saved me, Genji." He laughed.

"And then you saved me. It seems a never ending cycle." Angela sighed, she squeezed his cold metal hand – his fingers twitched against hers in response.

"Can Jesse get to my room?"

"I'll radio him and see."

* * *

Jesse McCree

The damn building was way too quiet for McCree's preferences. It probably wasn't so solemn when people were alive, but after the attack it was eerie. He stepped over blood stained bodies, trying his best to be respectful to the poor souls who hadn't gotten out in time. If they'd only been faster.

Jesse and his men had managed to secure a large amount of the scientists and staff. They'd fought off the vast majority of the Talon agents, and started to evacuate the survivors. When they'd gotten to the exit, however, they'd found that the door was sealed tight. Try as they might, the doors refused to open. One of the employees said that it had been set into emergence lockdown mode, and that the manual override was in a control room on the other end of the complex. McCree vowed to get the doors opened, and ordered his men to protect the survivors in his absence.

McCree paced up some stairs and turned a corner. This place was confusing, but the dude who had given him directions had been really detailed. McCree had only gotten lost once, but he was pretty sure he was back on track now.

He wondered if Genji had found Mercy. He hoped that this was just a random Talon attack, and that the heavy hitters hadn't come along. So far he hadn't seen hide nor tail of any of the big Talon names, but that didn't mean anything. He knew it couldn't be a coincidence that they just so happened to target the exact research compound that former Overwatch head doctor, Angela Ziegler, had been stationed at. They were after her – he just wasn't able to figure out why.

As McCree rounded another corner he knew he was in the right spot. Two Talon guards were standing on either side of a metal door. They held assault rifles and wore black masks. That had to be his control room. Even with all the commotion they hadn't abandoned their posts. Something important was certainly inside.

He moved towards the door, his right hand holding the hilt of his Peacekeeper. As he paced forward it drew the attention of the Talon guards.

"Hey!" he called out.

"Don't move!" one shouted as they rose their gun at him.

"Yeah, yeah. I know the drill."

"Hands in the air!"

"Hey, I was just lookin' for the bathroom."

"I said in the air!" McCree rolled his eyes.

"Yeeeeahhh, I'm not gonna do that." He drew his gun, rapidly pulling back the hammer with his left hand. The bullets hit their mark, knocking the Talon thugs backwards. They dropped dead to the ground, blood pooling from the holes in their heads. "Ya just had to let me use the bathroom." McCree popped open the chamber and reloaded the two bullets he had fired. They never had a chance.

McCree cracked open the door. It was a dark room lit only by a line of glowing screens that boasted security cameras. No further guards waited inside. Nice and easy. He moved towards the monitors. He hoped he could figure out how to override that damn door. As he neared the computer he noticed the big swivel chair that set up against the desk move. He could see glowing purple boots folded over each other as the intruder watched the screen. A pit of dread welled in his stomach. He squeezed the handle of his gun. The chair spun around.

"Hola," the woman hummed as her purple eyes found his. She grinned. "¿Cómo estás, señor McCree."

"Ah, hell," was his reply. She crossed her arms, leaning back in the big chair. Her smile widened.

"What's wrong? Not happy to see me?" she asked with a cocky tone laced with her accent.

"Sombra," McCree grumbled. "I thought I'd seen the last of you." Sombra spun around in her chair, swinging her legs like a child and making a noise. She stopped herself jarringly sudden.

"You can't get rid of me that easily." She added in Spanish, "Why don't you put down that gun and we'll talk?"

"I think I'll keep it," he replied in her language. She hopped out of her chair, standing uncomfortably close to him. She looked up at him with a teasing smile. She raised her hand, moving it between their faces. She drug a nail down McCree's lips. He flinched, taking a step away from her. "And I'm a bit too busy to talk at the moment."

"Where's the southern hospitality I hear so much about?"

"I don't waste it on terrorists." She chuckled.

"That's not how it seemed when we…" McCree cut her off saying, "No. That was before I knew you were Talon." She laughed, flopping back in the chair and spinning it one more rotation.

"Haven't you ever been tempted, McCree?"

"No."

"I know you have a bad side. I've seen it. Talon could give you so much more than Overwatch."

"I've done the bad guy thing before – didn't really like what it made me." He pushed past her, shoving the chair as he leaned over the console. He studied it, looking for the override button. Sombra spun around, watching him closely.

"Whatcha lookin' for?" she teased.

"None of your concern."

"Aw c'mon, McCree, this isn't the same light hearted guy I met back in Mexico. Why are you acting so grumpy?"

"Because I have to deal with you."

"You definitely don't like me anymore."

"I never did like you!" She grabbed his wrist.

"Now, we both know that's a lie." He ripped his arm for her grasp. Sombra leaned back in her chair, observing Jesse silently for a few minutes. "I could probably help, ya know."

"You're a lot of help," he said sarcastically. She leaned forward, looking over the console that McCree had been studying. She then leaned over and whispered into McCree's ear, "Looking for the door override?" He moved away from her, looking with a glare.

"No." She leaned back in her chair and kicked her feet up onto the control panel.

"You're a good liar, McCree… I'm just calling your bluff. I'll give you a hint… it's big and red." He grimaced. "And also if you hit the wrong one it'll put the whole building on a _serious_ lockdown; including this room so we'll be stuck in here together." McCree growled. He moved to hit a red button on the far right but Sombra made a, "uh uh uh," noise, halting him. He went to press a different button. Sombra stood up and grabbed his hand. "Nope," she said. He tried to press the next one, but she moved herself in front of it. She angled herself between him and the console. "Wrong again." McCree sighed.

"You know what why don't you just do it?" he suggested.

"That would be too simple."

"I insist." She laughed, moving her hand over deftly and pressing correct red button without even looking what she was hitting. McCree watched her suspiciously before looking over at the monitor and seeing the doors open. The scientists rushed out.

"Thanks," he said. She grinned. "De nada." She crossed her arms, smiling. "Why help me?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Payback, I suppose." She watched as he tensed his grip on his gun. "You regretting it?" He sighed.

"No." He went to move away, returning his Peacekeeper to its holster. He tried to ignore his gut instincts as he retreated from the control room.

"Oh, McCree!" Sombra called after him. When he turned back to her she was sitting back in the chair with one leg draped over the other. She had this insufferably confident look on her face. "I've found out some stuff about you since our last meeting." He narrowed his eyes.

"Oh?" She grinned.

"Yeah."

"Care to… indulge me?" She spun in the chair once more. The look of her bright purple form spinning was making Jesse a bit dizzy.

"Let's see… taken in by Overwatch at seventeen. You were part of a gang… the Deadlocks. Hey, I worked with a gang too."

"Funny how we've ended up in the exact opposite places."

"That's one way of putting it," she said lightheartedly. "I wasn't done though, thanks for interrupting me." He waved his hand. "Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes found potential in you – a skilled shot, so he gave you a chance to prove yourself."

"This is news?" She smiled.

"How about this then? The first mission you were on was a complete failure. It was espionage – a little extended scouting before Blackwatch took out a clan of esteemed assassins." Jesse's blood went cold. He knew where this story was heading. "You, Reyes, and a few others were the only ones charge with this important task. It was a precursor to a full on assault on one of Japan's most notorious crime syndicates. Except you messed the whole thing up." She laughed. "You just had to bang the crime boss's son, didn't you McCree?" McCree squeezed his weapon. "You blew your cover and the whole mission had to be abandoned." She laughed once more. "It's a good thing that little ninja came along and salvaged your mess years later or the Shimada clan would still be in power. What was his name… the Shimada kid that you hooked up with? Genji? No, that was his brother." She tapped her mouth, thoughtful. "Hanzo. That was it. I've been meaning to look into him too, but I wanted to run it all by you first." McCree shook his head.

"Leave him out of this, Sombra."

"What? You don't want to see him again?" McCree clenched his teeth.

"No. It's been fifteen years. Just leave him alone."

"Can't promise anything." She spun in her chair once more, but this time McCree slammed his foot onto the seat, stopping it mid spin. He pointed his gun at her.

"I mean it, Sombra. If you so much as think about Hanzo, our next meeting won't end as well." Sombra raised her hands in defeat, but that cocky smile didn't leave her lips.

"Touchy subject then?" He removed his foot, but kept his gun level with her face. "I was a bit surprised to be honest. Never took you for someone who likes other men. I mean, I know you like women but…"

"Enough." He took a step back. "How do you even know about all this?"

"Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes had extensive files and I… came across a few. He was the only one who knew about that little fling of yours. He didn't even tell Strike-Commander Morrison, you know?" Jesse didn't actually know that, but he didn't let it on. He felt a twang of guilt. Poor Reyes, he was a good man. "They're still classified, but I have my ways, you know."

"I know."

"I just think it's funny that apparently you were attracting the bad guys even back then. What is it that lures you to us? Our untouchable charm?"

"Hanzo was never a bad guy," Jesse murmured, looking off to the side. "Just a misguided kid – like I was."

"Ouch. Why don't I get that sort of emotion?" He glared at her.

"Because it meant nothing to me, Sombra. It didn't mean anythin' to you either; you just want to hold it over my head."

"Keep telling yourself that and one day you might convince someone." She was so nonchalant for someone being threatened with a gun.

McCree heard a flicker of static and Sombra seemed to focus in on something buzzing in her ear. Once the noise died she smiled. "Well, this has been fun," she said, "but I have to be going now." She did a little wave. "Don't forget me, McCree."

"Sombra," he started to say but she just winked at him.

"Adios!" she announced before vanishing totally, leaving her chair swaying slightly in her absence.

"Damn it," McCree sighed and holstered his gun.

He turned from the control room, satisfied that his task was complete but conflicted about the whole confrontation. Knots were tangled up in the pit of his stomach. Not every day was a man forced to face two mistakes of his past.

* * *

As McCree stepped into the big research room he was greeted to gun fire. It was a surprise burst that came from behind a distant counter. He jumped, pulling his gun in response. The shots missed though, hitting the wall to his right.

"Oh goodness!" a feminine voice gasped. "Jesse, I didn't know it was you." Angela emerged from behind a table.

"Y'all asked me here then ya shoot at me," he complained, holstering his weapon. "Now that is no way to greet an old friend." She moved around her hiding spot and sprinted up to him. Angela threw her arms around his shoulders, leaning up into a hug. Jesse huddled down, embracing the woman with an encompassing embrace. "I missed ya, Angie." Mercy pulled away, looking up into his eyes.

"I missed you too, Jesse."

McCree looked the woman up and down. They'd been friends since the day he'd arrived at Overwatch. They had both been young – still teenagers – and had gotten along well. She looked barely any different since the last time he'd seen her. Though, the fight that had broken out didn't leave her looking in top shape. Her blonde hair was scraggily. Her t-shirt had been ripped and the piece was wrapped around her forearm where it had turned red from blood. Still, she smiled up at Jesse like an old friend meeting under common circumstances.

"You smell like nicotine," Angela said with distaste. "Are you still smoking, Jesse McCree?" He chuckled.

"You haven't seen me in six years, Angie, and that's the first thing you gotta say to me?"

"I thought you'd quit."

"I started up again. The stress of having people that you love die violently can force ya back to old habits." He could see that she was about to apologize, but he stopped her by saying, "I know it's bad for me. I know, but it's not more deadly than dodgin' bullets. I think I'll be fine – especially with your medical expertise." She scowled at him.

"You want an iron lung like Genji?" He raised his eyebrow.

"Not particularly."

"Then I'd suggest restraint in your addictions."

"Speakin' of Genji where is the lil' guy?"

"I'm over here!" a voice called from behind the counter Angela had been hiding behind. "Slowly dying while you two catch up!" McCree laughed.

He handed Mercy her staff and the two walked over to the ninja. He was lying on the ground with his hand clutching his gunshot wound. His eyebrows were knitted in discomfort. "

Woah," McCree said. "You look rough. What happened?" Mercy knelt down beside Genji. She pointed her Caduceus staff at the injured man and activated her healing stream. He made a face and grunted, looking up at McCree while Angela did her thing.

"It was Reaper. He was targeting Angela," Genji informed. "I got here just in time."

"Damn. I was hoping this was random."

"Me too, but we both knew better." Jesse nodded.

"He got ya good."

"He left with a few injuries of his own," Angela stated.

"Oh?"

"Sword right through the abdomen," Genji assured. "Though I doubt he's dead."

"Reaper's a tough son of a bitch."

"You've fought him before?" Angela asked. McCree shook his head. "No, but Winston has. Beat him half near to death and the dude just vanishes. Then he turns up well and fine somewhere else later. He's some sort of freak of nature – absorbing damage like it's a bug bite."

"Medically it sounds like he has some enhancements." Angela paused, a disturbed look coming over her face. "But I saw him turn to… smoke…" She shuddered, remembering its cold touch. " _That_ I cannot explain."

"Was there anyone else here?" Genji asked. McCree blinked, looking away momentarily. Internally he was conflicted. He wasn't sure how much to share. He didn't want to lie to his allies, but talking about Sombra was far too complicated.

"Just Talon thugs – nothing more." He decided the lie was easier, though it did cause a pang of guilt.

"They must not have cared about anyone but Angela," Genji said. "Reaper was focused on her and he didn't care what happened to the rest of the scientists."

"Did anyone else get out?" Angela asked with hope in her eyes. McCree nodded.

"We were able to save a good deal of the staff. They got out and the Overwatch troops are protecting them. As far as I know all remainin' Talon ran off with their tail between their legs – the rest are dead."

"That's good." Angela looked to the doorway, staring at the body of a girl lying in a pool of her own blood. "I wish I could have helped more of them," she whispered.

Angela lowered her staff, finished with the healing process. Genji stood up, repaired. He touched her arm.

"You did all you could here," he assured. The two exchanged a long almost intimate glance. "But you know you can do more good with Overwatch." Angela sighed.

"Genji," she started but he shook his head.

"We can protect you and you can help innocents in the process."

"It's not like it was, Angie," Jesse added. "No Morrison/Reyes fightin'. No politics. We're just tryin' to help." She sighed.

"Well, I can't stay here," she said. "I can't put more innocents in danger." McCree knew she blamed herself. She had a guilt complex, but this wasn't her fault. She didn't ask Talon to come after her. He wanted to tell her that. "I will come with you… and decide if I will stay from there." Genji grinned though it was obvious he tried to hide it.

He had an expressive face, but it was clear that he was used to his mask disguising it. He was so infatuated with Angela and it was apparent when his brown eyes were visible. They sparkled every time she looked his way. McCree saw it, but he was unsure if either Angela or Genji noticed.

"Welp," McCree said, pushing his cowboy hat up a ways, "in that case… let's hit the road."

* * *

 _A/N: I had some formatting issues with this chapter. I tried to put the squiggly over the n in the word senior (not even trying the squiggly) and Microsoft Word had a seizure. i'm not sure what I did, but a big chunk of McCree's section got all bunched together when I moved it over onto here. It looks fine in my word document, but when copied here it acted like I never hit the enter key: resulting in a great wall of fan fiction. I had to fix it manually, but there's a chance I missed a few spaces, so please excuse any formatting problems you may find - blame Word._

 _As always reviews are appreciated and requests are considered!_


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Thanks for the reviews. Remember that they're always appreciated and requests are considered._

* * *

Ch. 4

McCree's First Mission: Nineteen Years Ago

Gabriel Reyes

The kid had been quiet for a while. He wasn't into this whole mission thing - that much was clear. Reyes had thought he'd be glad to get out of the HQ. If he was, he didn't show it. He seemed uninterested in the whole thing.

Reyes shifted in his seat of the car. It wasn't exactly something that he was used to. Most of the time they were shipped out in shuttles and carriers, but this was just a car. It was small and held only the four men. They had to blend in as best they could this time. He looked in the rearview mirror, watching Jesse as he sat idle with his arms folded and his hat pulled down to cover his eyes.

"Wake up kid, you're missing the view," Gabriel said. McCree shifted, peeking out from under the rim of his hat.

"Don't care," he drawled.

"You should look," Reyes urged. "It's… nice. A lot of… trees with… an interesting color." McCree snorted.

"You don't care about the damn view, Reyes." The commander chuckled, he was right after all. "And you liking pink tree flowers? Yeah, right. You might care if they were grayscale." Reyes was silent for a moment.

"They _would_ look much better in black," he half-joked. Jesse laughed, shifting so that he was sitting more straight in his seat.

"That's why you aren't Strike-Commander, ain't it? You wouldn't wear that blue uniform?" Reyes grimaced, but he tried not to let McCree see it. Any other person he would have snapped at, but he was trying to build the kids trust. Yelling at him for a wise crack would do the opposite.

"That's why we're called Blackwatch," he decided to joke back. McCree thought that was particularly funny.

Reyes knew that the kid was taking this whole new life thing hard, but he thought that trusting him with this mission would show him what being a good guy was all about. It wasn't that McCree wasn't a good guy. He was light hearted and funny, but also resentful for his position. He didn't hide it from his commander either. He'd straight told Reyes that he hated being forced there against his will. He wanted his freedom, and Overwatch had taken it from him. Still, Jesse recognized it was better than the alternative. He could have been locked up or dead like the rest of the Deadlock gang. Reyes couldn't help but wonder what twisted reality McCree's freedom was. From what he'd seen of the gang's treatment… it wasn't something he'd personally prefer.

Reyes remembered finding McCree lying on the ground grasping the edge of his stomach. He was just a kid – seventeen years old. He'd been shot in the gunfire and was bleeding pretty badly. When Reyes and a few of the other members barged in McCree had put a bullet in both of their brains before the barrel of Reyes' shotgun had persuaded him to cease his attack.

"What are you doing here, kid?" he'd asked.

"I ain't no kid," was his stubborn reply.

"Hell of a shot," Reyes said, motioning to his two dead men.

"Yeah well…" Reyes disarmed Jesse while keeping his gun pointed at him.

"How old are you?" he asked. McCree flinched at the pain in his stomach.

"Old enough." Reyes sighed.

"Old enough to get shot?" When the kid didn't reply Reyes said, "The rest of your gang has abandoned you." McCree was silent once more. "You're going to need medical attention if you don't want to bleed out."

"I don't care if I die," he'd argued then.

"You'll regret saying that once I actually let you," Reyes growled. He didn't live up to his word, however. He pulled him off the ground by his collar and led him back with the other prisoners.

A part of Reyes knew he should just lock the kid up with the rest of them, but something about McCree just hit a nerve with him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he didn't want to let him go down with the rest of the Deadlocks. Jack had told him not to, but Gabriel offered the kid a place among the organization anyway. To his surprise, McCree accepted.

It had been a year of training and nothing had really changed. To Reyes this was a last ditch effort in gaining Jesse's trust and showing him that he did have faith in him. He had to show that nothing bad would happen to him while in the company. He wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't see a change. If McCree messed this up… it was possible Morrison would have to send him to rot in prison with the rest of the apprehended Deadlocks. Gabriel didn't want to see that happen.

It had almost caused a diplomatic incident getting Jesse out of America's judiciary system. It had been a simple task just removing him and sending along a conscription order, but the American's hadn't taken it too well. They wanted the gang charged for all the damage they had caused to the country with their illegal operations. Jack had to do some serious damage control and had taken the brunt of the backlash, all for Gabriel's whim. By the end he and Overwatch had ended up owing a few people a few favors, but Reyes got his recruit. Jack never complained.

McCree had been acting out. He'd tried to run away a few times at the beginning. He'd gotten into a fist fight with a diplomats kid and beaten him senseless over some stupid comment he'd made. He'd gotten drunk and trashed the meeting room at the HQ. Reyes had almost beaten the shit out of him in his rage. He'd tried to straighten him out: scoldings, punishments. When the kid wasn't getting into something he was great, but when he decided to be rebellious… he was the worst. Reyes did see a change, though it was gradual, and it wasn't enough. The people Morrison had snagged McCree from were back on his case. They argued that he wasn't getting anywhere and that if he wasn't going to be worth anything then they wanted to bring him to justice. Morrison was stalling, but he could only do so much.

This was the last ditch effort. Jack didn't think it was a good idea to put so much trust in a kid who didn't want to be there, though.

"This is an important mission, Gabriel," he had warned. "If it fails then we could have a serious disaster on our hands." Reyes leaned over Morrison's desk.

"And you will clean it up just like always," he said, confidently. The Strike-Commander had grimaced. "It's a preemptive reconnaissance mission not an outward assault. It's important, but hard to fuck up."

"Blackwatch can't draw attention to itself." Reyes had just smirked, Jack could argue however much he wanted but Gabe got everything he wanted… for the most part – at least back then.

"I'm good at being discrete," he teased. Jack rolled his eyes.

"You? Since when?" Reyes chuckled.

"I want him to trust me."

"If this goes south…"

"You'll get all the blame as always…" He paused, looking off. "But if it goes right you'll get the praise too."

"Gabe…" Jack tried, but he just sighed and nodded. "Just keep an eye on the kid."

* * *

Gabriel's eyes flicked at the reflection of McCree. His eyes were locked on the window, watching the foreign picture pass by. He kept his head straight, so it didn't look like he was taking it all in. He wanted to uphold his uncaring defiant attitude, but couldn't help look at the curiosity that was metropolitan Japan. He shifted, pushing his cowboy hat back a little.

"You look ridiculous, McCree," Reyes said. Jesse's eyes met Gabriel's in the mirror. He huffed.

"You said dress casual," he defended.

"Casual. Not like someone from an old western movie." He snorted.

"Fuck you, Reyes." Gabriel snickered.

"That's Commander Reyes," he corrected, jokingly. McCree just rolled his eyes.

To be honest, the locals might not even think McCree was dressed weird. In fact, that was probably exactly what they pictured when they thought of Americans: jeans, button up shirts, and cow boy hats. No one would find him any stranger than the rest of the Blackwatch team. If anyone stood out among the group it was most likely Reyes himself.

* * *

No one was impressed with the safe house they were to be staying in for the duration of the mission. It was this small apartment; one that would allow them to blend in with the rest of the westerners. It was a cramped little place with a tiny little sitting room with little mats on the floor and a tiny little table. The kitchen had a few counters, a refrigerator, and this small Bunsen burner thing.

"I hope you don't want to bake a cake," McCree joked when he saw the lack of an actual stove.

"We'll live," Reyes said.

"This place is a shit hole," one of the other Blackwatch members said.

He was an Englishman trained in sniping. Williamson was his name. He had been with Overwatch for some time, but came from a wealthy background. He had been in the British military before that. What Reyes remembered of him was that he liked to sing – and had a good voice. He also remembered how posh he had to have things.

"I'm sorry princess," Reyes responded, "let me just call room service up to change the décor. You're not in the royal palace, Williamson!" he yelled. Jesse had snickered, enjoying seeing someone else get scolded.

"I think this place is nice," the final Blackwatch member, Hasashi, said.

Hasashi was a native of Japan, and had come along mainly to translate and to keep the foreigners from causing some sort of scene. Not to say that was his only use, he was skilled in espionage and martial arts.

"Of course you would," Williamson replied. "You're used to this shit."

"Shut up," Reyes ordered. He shifted his bag from one arm to the other. "We have two rooms. Williamson you're with Hasashi." He pointed to the door on the far left.

"Seriously? I don't want to have to share a room!" Reyes smirked.

"Then sleep in the bathroom." He looked at McCree. "You're with me, kid."

"Ass kisser," Williamson teased McCree. He made kissy noises.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up," Reyes growled. "I'm getting sick of hearing you talk." Williamson frowned.

"Yes, sir," he said with a sigh.

Gabriel went to his room. It was small just like the rest of the apartment, and was void of furniture aside from two small futons that sat on the floor. There wasn't a very big gap between the mats. The two men might as well be sharing a bed.

He tossed his bag next to the mat near the wall. He liked being in a small encompassing area and always liked being near a wall when sleeping alone. However, he found when sleeping in a bed with another person he liked being on the open side. It was his protective nature. He'd rather be exposed if it meant the other was safe. Part of him considered for a moment taking the bed window so that if an assassin were to crawl in he would be the first victim and Jesse would have time to react while Gabriel was being murdered.

"Window, nice," McCree said as he came into the room. He looked around, taking it in. "This is weird. What's with the mats?"

"They're futons… it's a Japanese bed."

"Looks uncomfortable," he grumbled, dropping his bag next to it. "But I've slept on worse." He flopped down, making it scoot across the wood floor slightly as he did.

"It'll be good for your back," Reyes murmured.

"Everything seems so small here. Maybe cause we're so close to the floor?" Gabriel didn't really feel the need to respond. Instead, he moved back into the sitting room. "Men!" he ordered, turning into Commander Reyes. They came out of their respective rooms. Williamson was bitching about the bed set up.

"I might as well be jumping in the sack with Hasashi," he whined.

"Shut up, for the last time," Reyes growled. McCree emerged scratching the light stubble on his chin.

"Alright. This is a serious mission," he said once he had their attention. "You've all had your briefings before the flight, but I feel the need to remind you since _some_ of us have air between our ears instead of a brain," Reyes looked specifically at the Englishman who scowled. "We are gathering intelligence of the local yakuza sect, the Shimada-gumi. They're trained assassin's and _extremely_ dangerous. This isn't a game and I need you all vigilant at all times. If this goes sour then we're back at square one and that's if we don't tip them off in the process. These guys are a serious threat, and taking them down begins right here, right now. Don't fuck it up. I'm putting my faith in you, and you know how easy it is to break," again Reyes looked at Williamson with dark eyes. His gaze flicked to McCree who for once seemed to be paying attention. "We can do this," he assured mainly the kid. He nodded.

"Right! Let's kick some ass," he said.

"Settle down there, McCree. Stealth is important. No guns blazing." Jesse folded his arms.

"That's kind of my whole thing though, ya know."

"I know, but I'm here to teach you some new skills. Being discrete is one of them."

"This ain't gonna end well, Reyes," McCree said doubtfully.

"You'll do great." He sighed, shrugging and surrendering the battle.

"Kiss ass," Williamson mumbled. Reyes glared at him.

"You really want me to beat you senseless, don't you?" he growled. He shook his head, trying to get his speech back on track. "That being said, you guys might as well get to know the area. We're going to be here for a while. You're dismissed. Go out into the city and take in the sights because work is our upmost priority and you might as well enjoy your tourism when you get the chance. I want you sticking in a group. I don't want a diplomatic incident because you can't order noodles correctly. Hasashi can translate, so don't leave his side."

The group begrudgingly agreed and took off from the apartment, leaving Gabriel alone for a moment of reprieve before the real work started. He went to his room, sitting on his futon and taking a breath. He pulled his phone from his bag. He found the number and waited as it rang. There was a click and the screen lit up, showing that beautiful bright face.

"Gabe," he said, smiling.

"Morning, Jack," Gabriel responded, smiling at the phone. Jack looked tired. His blonde hair was wet and dark, showing he had just gotten out of the shower. He'd been up for about half an hour, doing exercises before cleaning up. Gabriel knew his routine well – even though they hadn't spent the night together in several months. Jack yawned. "Rough night?"

"Reports." Gabriel nodded in understanding. "How's it going over there?"

"It'll be great if Williamson makes it through the night."

"What about McCree?"

"He seems… enthusiastic to be here – to say the least."

"Right. I'm glad he's getting along… for now, anyway." Gabriel nodded, looking down. They didn't talk about anything but work anymore. "I don't need to remind you how important this is."

"You don't."

"If…"

"I know the stakes, Morrison." Jack frowned. Gabriel rarely called him by his last name, but that rarity was becoming more common. "I don't need your lectures."

"I know – I'm sorry." Gabriel nodded.

"Right." He paused. "It's okay."

"Sometimes I forget how well you understand the burdens of command." Gabriel had to stop himself from glowering. He didn't answer. "Hey, Gabe, I need to get to it. Enjoy Japan! I can't wait till you get back." He smiled warmly, his blue eyes shining even through the screen. Still, Gabriel doubted it.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll get it done."

"I didn't say…"

"I know you didn't." There was a second of silence.

Jack sighed, "I love you, Gabe," he murmured. Gabriel looked at the screen. He nodded. He knew, but it didn't mean as much as it once had.

"Me too," he said. Jack frowned, but didn't say anything. "I'll call you later – give you an update."

"I'll call you later… just to talk." Gabriel smiled. Sometimes Jack _did_ try.

"Good," he said. "Bye, boy scout." Jack chuckled.

"Bye, Gabe." He waved and then the screen went black.

Reyes sat the phone down next to the mat. He sighed, draping his arms over his knees and hanging his head. Things were complicated between Jack and him. Being in a different country wasn't helping anything either. Duty was first, though. It was always first…

* * *

Jesse McCree

Reyes had told them he wanted them to stay together in a group. McCree hadn't exactly listened. It wasn't like he'd split from the group on purpose. He'd just kind of wondered off expecting them to follow. He was hungry and Williamson just wanted to flirt with the pretty foreign girls. They didn't know what he was saying, but they did giggle at his stupid boasts. Hasashi had been translating, but Jesse assumed it was probably wrong. If he was the translator, McCree would have definitely been telling those girls that Williamson had a small penis or something. Unfortunately, Hasashi was too nice of a guy. McCree had been getting annoyed at the Englishman's flirting.

"I'm hungry," he had groaned, leaning against the wall with a furrowed brow.

Williamson just responded, "Shut up, kid, the adults are playin'." The irony was the girls he was targeting were probably about McCree's age.

"Fine, dick, I'm goin' to get me some food – you have fun." He had moved to leave.

"What? You don't like foreign ladies?" he'd asked.

"I don't like starvin' to death," was his annoyed answer. "C'ya." He walked away.

"Jesse, wait!" Hasashi was calling after him, but ultimately never made chase due to Williamson holding him in place by his shirt.

McCree didn't care. He didn't need a babysitter. He ended up wondering around Hanamura. He walked around aimlessly, glaring at signs he couldn't read and peeking into shops to see if there was food. Eventually he came up to an arcade. It was one of those old fashion places with cabinets and stuff. It wasn't something McCree expected to see. Next to it was a little noodle shop. He could tell because there was an English sign above the door that said ramen. He sighed in relief.

"Food," he groaned, holding his growling stomach.

He wasn't exactly sure how… the place worked. He recognized that it definitely wouldn't be like in America, but he'd ditched his translator and didn't have much choice other than just winging it. He just hoped the lady at the counter could speak a little bit of English cause he didn't know one ounce of Japanese.

He went inside, scratching the back of his head under his hat. He walked awkwardly to the counter where a few men were sitting and eating ramen. He wasn't sure if that was where he was supposed to order or what, but he didn't see anyone else to talk to.

"Uhhh, hi there, ma'am," he stuttered. "Do ya speak English?" She blinked at him in confusion then said something in Japanese. "Look, I really don't know what I'm doin' here – I'm just hungry and want some food." She cocked her head in confusion, saying something else in her native language. "I don't know what yer saying." He sighed. "You don't know what I'm sayin'." She made a few gestures towards the food, saying something intelligible. "Yeah," he said, nodding. "I want food. I'm hungry." He waved at the pots behind her. She said something – it was phrased like a question but he had no idea as to what it was. He was starting to get irritated. It wasn't the girls fault, but he couldn't help it that it was a frustrating situation. Surely, someone in the building had to be able to speak some English. No one moved to help him, however. "Fucking Williamson," he growled aloud, since no one could understand him anyway. "Taking away my translator." He wanted to go back and kick his ass, but he wasn't quite sure where he was or where they would be. He was lost in a strange country without any guidance from anyone. He sort of regretted storming off from the group. He decided he would try to gesture he way through the conversation. He placed his hand on him stomach saying slowly, "I'm hungry." He waved towards the pots behind her. "I want food." He waved towards his mouth. "So that I can eat." He shook his head once again placing his hand on his stomach. "And not be hungry." The woman stared at him blankly. She hadn't understood in the slightest. Jesse sighed. "Fuck. I can't speak Japanese." He slammed his hand into his face and groaned. "Fuck," he whined.

He was contemplating how he was going to get his point across when a hand grasped his shoulder. At first it was a light touch, but then it tightened into a squeeze. He was pulled back slightly away from the counter. A man pushed passed him, placing his hands on the counter. McCree looked at him in shock.

"What the fuck?!" he exclaimed, glaring at the guy's shiny black ponytail. "That was fucking rude! Asshole," he hissed in the man's ear. The man spun around. Deep brown, stoic eyes glared into Jesse's. The dark look almost froze McCree. His breath hitched in his throat, and he couldn't look away. He was stunned, and he wasn't even sure why.

"Shut up, you ridiculous American!" he yelled. McCree was even more taken aback. This guy could speak English? He turned back to the woman behind the bar and began to speak with her in Japanese. She smiled at him, touching his arm in familiarity. She turned from the two and began spooning noodles into a bowl. The man turned around. He looked at Jesse with an unamused expression. "She is getting you some ramen," he grumbled. Those eyes stared into Jesse's soul, but he tried to ignore the knot in his stomach.

Jesse finally got a good look at the man, breaking from his eyes. He was young – couldn't be any older than McCree himself. His hair was dark black – like raven black – and sleek like silk, tied back behind his head. Jesse kind of wanted to touch it. He was dressed in what McCree thought of as… traditional Japanese garb – though he wasn't too sure of the official name. It was orange and had two swirling dragons around an orb on the chest. He was… pretty… really really pretty, and that wasn't a word Jesse really used to describe men. It kind of confused him, but in a good way.

"You translated for me?" he asked, shaking off his awe.

"I would not call that translating," was his disgruntled reply. "I cut out all the yelling and curses." McCree chuckled, though he was pretty certain this man wasn't joking. He scratched the back of his head semi-nervously.

"Well, either way I'm much obliged." He tipped his hat. The guy just huffed and looked back at the server as she sat the bowl on the counter. She smiled, looking at both of the men. She said something in Japanese and he replied in manner. He looked back at McCree.

"She wants your payment," he said.

"Oh, right!" McCree plunged his hand into the pocket of his jeans and dug around, foraging for some money. He pulled out five wrinkled and torn dollar bills. He looked at the faded green notes and said, "Uh, will American money do?" The guy answered with the sexiest eye roll that McCree had ever seen.

"No, it will _not_ do," he growled. He turned back to the woman. He said something in their native language to her and then sat some coins on the counter. He motioned towards McCree and then back towards the food. He nodded when she asked a question and then motioned back towards the pots behind her. She smiled a wide smile and turned away from him, scooping some more ramen into a bowl. The man snatched the bowl from the table and offered it to Jesse. "I paid for it," he said. Jesse blinked.

"I can't let ya do that."

"I already did. I would suggest getting some money of your own." McCree offered him his worn usd currency, but he shook his head. "That is not necessary," he paused, "and also useless to me." He gestured to the bowl with his free hand. Jesse shoved the money back in his pocket and took the bowl. The man was careful to not touch him.

"Now I'm really obliged," he said. "I wish I could pay you back, and I'm sorry about the yellin' earlier. I didn't think anyone could understand me anyway."

"They can still hear your tone," he reminded the cowboy. Jesse nodded.

"Riiight… I'm a lil' out of my element."

"That is a painfully obvious truth." The man turned from him, crossing his arms and watching the woman fix his food. McCree was unsure as to what to say, but a part of him didn't want to just walk away. He kept standing there, staring at the back of his beautiful head for a reason he couldn't quite rationalize to himself. After a moment, he turned back, food in hand. He looked at Jesse with a questioning gaze. "Is there anything more?" he asked.

"No, I mean…" he wasn't sure what he meant, honestly. "Would you… like to sit with me?" He motioned to two empty stools. The man raised one perfect eyebrow at the question. He looked around the room, absorbing his options.

"Considering there are no other seating options – I will have to accept," he said. Jesse smiled despite the callous answer. To be fair, he'd been a bit of an asshole since he'd appeared, but McCree didn't really mind.

The two men walked to the open stools, sitting side by side. The man didn't really say anything. He sat his bowl on the table and wound his noodles around his chopsticks deftly. He took a bite. Jesse just watched. He observed how his fingers moved, holding the wooden sticks like they were an extension of himself. He got the feeling that this man was perfect with everything he tried his hand at. He had an elegant swiftness that was almost enchanting. It was precision Jesse had never seen before. The man moved, brushing back a few strands of free raven hair from in front of his face and sweeping them behind his ear. He caught McCree's gaze from the corner of his eyes and turned his glare to him.

"Why are you staring?" he asked. McCree scratched his neck.

"I'm just tryin' to figure out how you use those things," he said, shrugging. The guy turned back to his food.

"Easily," he murmured. McCree smirked at the answer.

He turned to his own food, picking up the unfamiliar cutlery. He stared at it for a moment. He tried to fit it in his hand correctly while maneuvering them to pick up the ramen. It wasn't going well for him, however. The noodles kept slipping from the chopsticks and flopping back into the bowl while Jesse struggled with trying to move them. He tried a different approach, holding the two sticks together and trying to slip the food underneath. It worked a bit, but it was hard to get it in his mouth. He grumbled, unable to conquer the foreign utensils. Finally, after a few tries he gave up. He picked the bowl up to his mouth and slurped the ramen, trying his best not to be too loud. His companion still glared at him with those unbearably gorgeous eyes.

"I am not surprised," he said, shaking his head. McCree chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand which was met with a cringe.

"You're funny," he said.

"I am not trying to be."

"Nah, but that's a good thing, right, being funny without tryin'?"

"If you say so." McCree thought for a moment, trying to decide what to say next. He remembered something.

"Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. The name's McCree – Jesse McCree." He held out his hand as if to shake, turning in his stool to face his new friend. The man looked at him for a moment, as if considering something.

"Hanzo," he said after a second, bowing his head slightly in a form of greeting. He did not take Jesse's offer to shake. McCree dropped his hand.

"Got a last name?" he asked.

"Yes."

"That's a pretty last name." Hanzo glared at the cowboy, his eyes burning into him. "That was a joke." He turned away.

"I do not think it was." As far as McCree was concerned it damn well could've been his last name.

"Do you live around here?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Yes."

"Is there anything interesting to do, ya know, somethin' for a tourist?"

"I am not a tour guide."

"Right, but ya gotta know some things." Hanzo spun towards him.

"Do you ever stop talking?" he demanded. McCree shrugged.

"Not really," he said. The guy was cute but he definitely wasn't friendly.

There were a few minutes of silence between them – though Jesse was sure that was how Hanzo preferred it. He resumed slurping his ramen whilst Hanzo delicately ate his. McCree wasn't sure if there would be any further conversation between them.

"Indulge me, McCree," Hanzo said to Jesse's surprise.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"How did you manage to stumble in here with no money and no knowledge of how to properly communicate your needs?" McCree looked off sheepishly.

"I kind of was part of a group. One guy, our translator, had all the money and I got separated from them."

"How?"

"I just walked off." Hanzo gave him a look of judgment. It was as if he was calling him an 'idiot' with his eyes. "I know – I know. It was a dumb thing to do. I just don't like my friends very much."

"Would poor company not be preferable to being lost in a foreign country alone?" McCree shrugged.

"Maybe, but where's the adventure in that?" He half smiled at his new friend. Hanzo looked at him critically, but then his mouth upturned lightly as if to give a slight smile.

"That is an admirable point of view – one that I am envious of." There was a tone in his voice – like bitterness. McCree was a bit surprised by that admission.

"Really? You don't get much adventure?"

"Not… of my own accord." There seemed to be a lot more loaded into that statement than McCree could really read. He seemed a little sad. Jesse frowned.

"Well, why not?" Hanzo just kind of looked down, taking a bite of his food. It didn't seem like he wanted to answer. So Jesse said, "Ya just need the right person to find some with, I guess." He smiled at him, assuring. Hanzo stared into McCree's eyes, a confident look. A ghost of a smile flickered on his face. He looked away.

"That sounds exciting, but not realistic," he said.

"I don't see why not."

"You would if you knew me."

"I can always get to."

Hanzo stood abruptly. He shook his head, not looking at McCree as he said, "That is not a good idea." He stepped away from the counter, urgently. "I must be going. Good day." He turned to walk away.

"Hey, wait!" McCree called. He jumped up. Hanzo froze, glancing over his shoulder back at the cowboy. His intense eyes made McCree shiver. He bit his lip. He had to regain his thought that the look caused him to lose. "I just… I wanted to thank you again for helping me and for buying me dinner."

"You are welcome," he said gently. He gave him a nod. "Good bye." Hanzo retreated from the noodle shop, disappearing into the distance.

McCree finished his food. He cleaned up the bowls and left the restaurant. He was then faced with the issue of not knowing exactly where he was. He had wondered rather aimlessly and hadn't paid attention to where he'd ended up. It had been about an hour since his departure and there was no telling where his teammates had went. His best bet was to find the apartments.

He wondered around the area, moving down the street. He noticed a big fenced off mansion in the distance. He wasn't sure how he'd missed that when he'd first approached. It was large and looked like a traditional Japanese palace. He approached it, looking up at the big fence. What an impressive place. He stood there, looking around for a few minutes.

He noticed the seal on the front gate: the two dragons swirling around an orb. It was the same symbol that had been on Hanzo's clothes. He wondered if this was his home, or if the symbol meant something specific.

"There you are, Jesse!" an accented voice called out. Jesse looked over to the two approaching men, his teammates.

"We thought you'd went AWOL," Williamson said.

"Just hungry," Jesse assured.

"We were getting worried we'd have to go back and tell Reyes we'd lost you." McCree squinted.

"I'm glad you were so concerned about my well bein'," he said sarcastically.

"Right. Don't run off like that again, kid, or I'll kick your ass." McCree rolled his eyes. He could take him.

"We should get away from this place before we are spotted," Hasashi warned. McCree looked over at the gate.

"Why?" he asked. Williamson gave him an 'are you serious?' look.

"This is the yakuza base of operations, dumbass. If you paid attention in briefing you'd know that." McCree looked back at the place feeling a little concerned. His mind flickered back to his new friend – that had paid for his dinner. It focused on the seal that was on both the gate and his clothing. That couldn't be a coincidence.

"That's not good," he murmured.

"What?" Hasashi asked. McCree pointed to the swirling Dragons.

Was Hanzo a part of the Shimada clan mafia? He was young – couldn't be older than twenty. How could an arguably nice (really not so nice but nice enough to help a poor tourist) guy end up in the mafia? What was going on here?

"I," McCree paused, "I met a guy wearing that symbol. I think he's part of the yakuza."

"You talked to him?!" Williamson asked, irritated.

"Yeah. We had dinner together."

"You dumbass! They could already know we're here!"

"It's not like I introduced myself: Jesse McCree, Blackwatch Reconnaissance. I asked him about interesting places nearby and couldn't speak a lick of Japanese. He thought I was a tourist!"

"You could have blown the whole thing, idiot!" McCree was getting frustrated.

"Why don't you take a load off and calm the fuck down!"

"He's right," Hasashi said. "We need to return to Commander Reyes so that we can let him know our cover could be compromised. We should lay low and watch for suspicious activity."

"Y'all're overreacting," Jesse said, rolling his eyes.

"We're just being careful, Jesse," Hasashi said. He waved at him to go. "Let us get back quickly."

Williamson and Hasashi started back to the apartments, but McCree lingered a moment longer. He looked back at the dragon seal on the gate. He blinked, wondering if he really had already ruined the mission. He wasn't sure if he cared. Maybe it would be good enough cause for Reyes to throw him out. As he moved to follow the group his thoughts turned to Hanzo. He pondered if he really was a yakuza member, and if that was the reason why he had spontaneously left. There was something… special about him, and a part of McCree wondered if he would ever see him again. He hoped so.

* * *

 _AN: This is going to be one of the three main plot lines going on simultaneously. Again, I hope it doesn't get too confusing._


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Thank you guys for all the reviews and support. I really appreciate every review I get! For the guests reading this and trying to keep up with updates: I'm trying to update this story weekly. This chapter took a little longer (reason will be in the author's notes at the end of the chapter). So it's safe to check for updates after a week or so._

* * *

Ch. 5

Soldier Enhancement Program Training: 34 Years Ago

Jack Morrison

"Subject SEPA04JM076," a wrinkle faced doctor said as he shined a bright light in Jack's eyes. The man's brown eyes glinted behind his small glasses as he examined the soldier. He turned slightly to a woman to his right. She was holding a tablet that projected a little hologram of Jack's vitals as it scanned him. She tapped the screen a few times.

"Looking normal, doctor," she said. Jack tried not to flinch when the doctor moved the burning light from one eye to the other.

"Compare to recordings," he ordered her as if she didn't know what to do already. She brought up an identical scan. They hovered side by side.

"Matching."

"Excellent." He shut off the light, causing Jack to blink back the white spots left behind. "You're good to go, 76."

"Yes, sir," he replied automatically. He turned from the two scientists as another subject took his place. He moved from the exam room and down the hall to the training grounds. The exams were a mandatory morning procedure. He wasn't sure of the point – the "enhancements" had yet to begin. He didn't think that there would be any vital changes from day to day. Still, they didn't take long and Jack had barely even noticed them after a week of the regimen. He liked schedules – always had – even before he'd joined the army.

As he exited the building to the outside the sounds of droning conversation filled his ears. Most would think that a program filled with highly skilled and valued combatants would be a little stricter, but because of that they were actually more lenient than what Jack was familiar with. The men were all spread out, chatting with one another. A line of officers were standing at the far end of the open field. Jack approached the officer he'd been assigned to, Peters. Peters looked him up and down; examining his uniform, assuring it was pristine.

"You the last one, Morrison?" he asked.

"No, sir," Jack replied formally. "Leon was behind me."

"They've been waiting on group four."

"The doctor had an issue with his tablet," Jack explained. He nodded, sighing. Jack disliked how disinterested Peters always was with absolutely everything. It was like he had a look of boredom chiseled into his face.

"Alright. We're sparring today, you're…," he looked at his tablet, squinting quizzically at the screen, "over there." He pointed to an arrangement of men. "Set Nine." Jack looked at the circle of men. "No fighting until a ref joins you." He sounded tired with the line that he'd probably told the eight other men before Jack.

"Yes, sir," Jack responded.

"Dismissed, Morrison."

Jack turned from his sponsor, strutting up to the collection of people that Peters had gestured to. He kept his shoulder high, straight and solid. It commanded a sense of power that was always good when being introduced into a new group of soldiers. It was always uncertain what he would walk into, so he made sure he went in with the impression of strength. It was a bluff that tended to work well with most of the others. It wasn't wise to let on to the skin deep anxiety that he really felt – the burning of lungs as he submerged himself in a group of men he didn't know. He was a good actor, and no one had called him out on his false bravado yet. Sometimes, he felt like he actually convinced himself more than anyone else. If he'd just think hard enough that he was just as alpha as the other guys that he really would be. Unfortunately, he had to put on that act a lot with the way they did things around there.

It was an honest tactical trend that Jack had picked up on right away. When they had first been admitted to the program the one hundred soldiers were split up into ten groups of ten which were assigned officers to watch over. For the first day it had seemed that those would be the ten that did everything together. However, as soon as they started activities the groups were split up, one from each being placed in separate temporary sects that lasted for the duration of the exercise. It was a smart play: keeping them from pack mentalities. Grouping them up made it easier to manage, but not solidifying that group assured that they made bonds with other members of the program.

As Jack formed with the group of mostly unfamiliar recruits he glanced around. He knew a few of their names, but for the most part had never worked with any of them prior. The exception to that was a young woman by the name of Allison Brena. The two of them had been grouped together by the random name generator twice before and had become acquainted.

"Jack," she said, smiling. She waved him over.

Brena was a woman in her mid-twenties, older than Jack. She was tall, almost six foot, and muscular, though not overly so. She was one of the few women in the program – making a little over ten percent of the drafted soldiers. From what she'd told him, she'd been a sniper with an impressive record before getting noticed by SEP. She'd made it clear that she'd earned her right to be there and would fight any man that attempted to tell her otherwise. Jack kind of enjoyed the idea of the program being unforgivingly co-ed, pairing the women to fight the men like they were no different.

Jack swaggered over to the familiar face, dropping the act quickly once he stood beside her. He smiled a light smile that made his sweet face seem even more childlike. He was already one of the younger members of the program and the last thing he needed was seeming more like a kid.

"We're finally going to be seeing some real action," he said enthusiastically, smiling at Brena.

"Finally going to kick your ass," she replied, balling her hands into fists and punching the air.

"Settle down there. I don't know what the ghost did to you, but it's not worth it," Jack joked. She smiled, dropping her arms. Her display had drawn attention over to them. Jack made a point of flattening his shoulders once more and straightening his back. He waited for the hazing to begin. He'd heard it already, but they said nothing this time.

A part of Jack felt very out of place there. The whole aura was much different than the army despite it being made from the military. It was certainly different than the rural area he'd grown up in. This was a collection of the best of the best and Jack was proud to even be a part of it. Still, sometimes he doubted that he even belong. He wasn't sure how well he fit in. He was younger, smaller, and overall what appeared to be frailer than the other men. Still, he'd been picked over officers and specialists. There had to be something that the program heads saw in him. He wondered if the other guys there felt the same. Some part of him felt that he was not alone.

Was everyone putting on a show?

The sound of yelling caught his and everyone else's attention. They all turned their heads to watch the scene that folded out before them. A man, dressed in the garb of a recruit, was arguing with an officer. Jack didn't recognize the officer, but he recognized the recruit. It was hard not to. _That_ was a man who _wasn't_ putting on a show; that was for sure. Jack couldn't imagine anyone speaking to a commander that way especially not that early in the program, but someone would always surprise.

The officer pointed towards Jack's group and the recruit rolled his eyes. Jack couldn't see his eyes, but he still knew that's what had happened. He turned and trudged towards them with the most displeased look on his face: eyebrows knitted in displeasure and mouth turned into a grimace.

"Oversleep again, Reyes?" one of the other men asked teasingly as the angry recruit arrived.

"Shove it, Powell," was his curt reply.

Gabriel Reyes was a smoldering force of anger. That's how everyone saw him, anyway. Jack had never spoken to him or been anywhere near him, but his reputation preceded him. He'd been an officer before his acceptance and because he'd known authority it was obvious he had trouble taking orders from men he would have once been bossing around. He was tough, built like a brick house and as strong as one too. Jack wasn't even sure if he needed enhancements. He didn't get along with really anyone well. He had already been in a serious fist fight with one of the other men.

Honestly, Jack felt it was better to just stay away from him. He was the type of guy that Jack didn't really want to be around – the kind of person that made him feel the need to hold his shoulders high. It was a… disturbing thought thinking he may have to fight him.

Reyes pushed his way through the congregated soldiers, shoving forwards to where Jack and Brena had been standing. A pang of anxiety shook Jack, but he didn't let it show. Reyes stood on the other side of the woman.

"Officer Nowell is going to fucking kill you if you keep yelling at him, Reyes," Brena said. Jack arched a golden eye brow in curiosity.

Brena knew Reyes?

Reyes rolled his eyes and said, "Like I'm scared of that little bitch." She snorted.

"You will be when they kick your ass out for insubordination."

"They're not going to kick me out," he said confidently.

"Don't be so sure. If you're more trouble than your worth…"

"Who's deciding exactly how much trouble I'm worth?" His tone was cocky.

Jack rolled his eyes. A part of him wanted to see Reyes get thrown out if only to spite his arrogance. He half-smiled at the thought.

"Something funny, blondie?" the gruff voice growled. Jack's blue eyes flicked up to meet Reyes' dark brown grimace. For a second Jack wondered if the guy knew what a real smile was. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing," he said semi-passively. He'd rather not be Reyes's second real fist fight in one week. Though, a part of him tingled at the idea of telling this guy off. Reyes's brown eyes darted to Brena who was glancing between the two.

"Who's the boy scout?" he asked. It was a purposeful move. He was minimizing Jack's existence by not addressing him personally. Reyes was establishing his dominance.

"Jack Morrison," he said formally, holding out his hand in an attempt to shake. Reyes crossed his arms, a look of almost disbelief on his face. Jack wasn't going to play his territorial game.

"I hit the nail right on the head with the boy scout thing, didn't I?" he asked, looking over at Brena. Jack dropped his hand. He mimicked Reyes, crossing his arms. Brena looked a little startled by what was happening. She shook her head.

"Don't drag me into this," she said. Jack smirked, looking his adversary over.

"You gonna say anything, or you just going to stare at me?" Reyes asked, waving his hand in front of Jack's face.

Reyes was about Jack's height, but had a larger build. He wore the same uniform as the other recruits: a gray t-shirt with khaki cargo pants. Reyes, however, had embellished his a little with a studded black belt. His dark brown hair was kind of long – chin length – and pulled into a small but wavy ponytail at the nape of his neck. He also wore small silver earrings in both of his ears. All of which was against uniform regulations, but Reyes didn't seem to care in the slightest. No one had said anything to him either.

"Sorry," Jack said. For a second Reyes had a flash of smug satisfaction dance across his continence, but Jack added, "I just thought you had made a wrong turn on your way to a Halloween party." The arrogant look died, shifting into a grimace. Jack enjoyed that.

"Ooh, this puppy has a little bite." Reyes leaned forward, his face an inch from Jack's. He tried not to show the fear that he felt. "Let's see how hard it is in the ring." He leaned away. Reyes took a few steps back, winking at Jack before he moved away.

"What's that guy's problem?" Jack asked when Reyes was out of earshot. Brena crossed her arms.

"He's just a little overbearing. He likes pushing the others, but from what I've seen it usually works out. Everyone likes showing him up. They usually don't, but they try their best."

"You've been paired with him before?"

"Once, yeah. We've eaten in vaguely the same area in the lunch hall too."

"Sounds like a pleasure," Jack murmured. Brena snickered.

"What was 'a pleasure' was the look on his face when you told him off." Jack smiled.

"It felt good."

"I bet." There was a pause. "He's gonna kick your ass now, though, you know." Jack sighed. He rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his golden hair. He didn't regret his quip, but he wasn't sure he wanted to face the consequences. Reyes was clearly not one to let things go.

Their referee, an officer named Holt, arrived. He was carrying a tablet as most of them did while observing the recruits. They took notes, observing who did the best and who did the worst. Jack wasn't quite sure exactly what they were looking for. A few rumors were they were looking to who would be promoted up and who would be placed under who. It was early in the program, only a little over a week, and so far it had been nothing but training and watching. The officers were silent and eagle eyed. Some of the other recruits said that those officers had been the few survivors from the testing phases of the drugs they were going to use on them. It was an unsettling thought to Jack: that these men were all that was left.

When they'd been conscripted a low mortality rate had been promised. There was always a possibility, but it wasn't something that had become obvious until Jack had arrived. Everyone gossiped about it, but all the higher ups refused to answer any direct questioning. It was a dark topic, but it was assured that the project would never have been approved and funded if they'd thought that the countries best soldiers were being put in certain danger.

Holt spread the boys out and picked two of the boys to be the first sparring partners. The rest of the group formed a large ring around the two partners. Holt stood further in, off to the side, so that he could split them up if needed.

"The rules are what you'd expect," he explained. "No hitting below the belt, try not to bust each other's faces open, and first to call submission loses." He stepped back a few feet. "Fight!"

Jack watched as different pairings of guys went up against each other. Occasionally he would glance up at Reyes. Each time his brown eyes were glued on Jack. Unlike a normal person caught staring who would look away quickly, Reyes smirked. Jack gritted his teeth, his eyes moving away from the other man. He felt a little nervous that this man – who was already notorious – had set his sights on him. Jack crossed his arms, trying to ignore the obvious stare that made his skin crawl.

Jack won every brawl he was put into; as did Reyes. The two systematically put to shame every other man and woman in the group. Reyes had taken out Brena, knocking her feet out from under her and pinning her down with her arm behind her back until she tapped out. He smiled in pure pleasure as she limped back to Jack. He was enjoying this far too much.

When Jack and Reyes were the only two undefeated, Jack knew what was coming. It was what Reyes had wanted since the second he looked at him.

"Morrison, Reyes," Holt said. "You're the last two standing. This fight will decide the champion."

"Will we go on to regionals?" Reyes said sarcastically with disinterest. He didn't seem to care in whatever meaningless title that was bestowed upon the winner. He was invested in the sheer rush of the brawl alone. Jack snorted at the joke, causing Reyes's eyes to flick back to him.

"This is state, Reyes, now get in the ring."

Reyes did as he was told, for once, and moved into the center. Jack mimicked him, standing a few feet back from his opponent.

"Let's see what ya got, blondie," Reyes teased.

"Watching didn't show you enough?" Jack retorted.

"I like to be a little more hands on." Reyes winked.

"Are we going to fight, or are you going to keep flirting with me?"

"I don't know. Looking at you makes me think you'd be a little better in bed than you would in the ring." Jack grimaced at him. He'd gotten that a lot in the army. He was 'pretty' and a lot of people only saw that. He always had to prove himself as more and that was something he hated. Still, that fight would definitely be his chance.

"I didn't get here because of my looks."

"That's right. A first class boy scout, like yourself, has to have an impressive résumé."

"Would you like to see it?"

"Maybe when I'm your commander I'll have a look." Reyes taunted.

"Maybe when I'm yours I can slap you with insubordination."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I'll throw in a uniform violation for that stupid ponytail too." Reyes, almost self-consciously, touched his longish hair. His dark eyes narrowed, examining Jack closely.

"And I'll teach you a thing or two about being a _real_ soldier."

"Are you two going to keep smack talking or are you going to fight?" Brena yelled from the side.

"We're waiting on Holt!" Reyes yelled to her. When the soldiers looked at him he shrugged.

"I was enjoying the banter," the officer defended. He stepped back a few feet. "Alright then. Fight."

Reyes went in fast, moving towards Jack a little faster than he had expected. It caught him off guard, allowing Reyes to force him to the ground right away. He just shoved his hand hard into Jack's shoulder while hooking his leg under Jack's. The swift movement and technique brought him down before he could even think of countering. Reyes dropped to pin him, but Jack kneed him in the stomach and rolled out of the way. He jumped back to his feet quickly. Jack kicked Reyes, but his leg was caught. Reyes punched him in the stomach and used his recoil as opportunity to get back on his feet. He moved back, bringing his fists up. Jack did the same. Reyes smirked at him, going in for a punch that Jack blocked. From there it was back in fourth boxing: a mix of throws and blocks. It was a standstill – neither man gaining the upper hand. Jack was breathing hard, feeling the burn of the fight.

"Getting tired on me, Morrison?" Reyes teased.

"Not a chance," Jack lied, dodging under a punch thrown by Reyes.

"Just give up and I'll go easy on you."

"That how you win, Reyes? Forcing your opponent into submission with sweet talk?" Reyes chuckled.

"No, but I thought it might work on a boy scout like you." Jack growled, getting frustrated by the mocking. Of course that's what Reyes wanted.

Jack threw a punch blindly, but Reyes caught his arm. He punched Jack in the face – not too hard, but hard enough to stun him. It was a move that was clearly meant to be avoided while sparring. Reyes tackled Jack to the ground, knocking him hard on his back and pinning his arms above his head. Reyes hovered over top of him, his knees on either side of Jack's waist. He was using his weight to keep him down. Jack pushed against him, but Reyes was solid. His strength was pretty impressive, Jack would admit.

"Get off me, Reyes," Jack huffed. He just grinned.

"Tap out, Morrison." When Jack didn't comply Reyes said, "We can lay here all day, but you're going to have to tap out sometime." Jack growled, struggling one last time.

"Fine, I give," he grumbled.

Reyes released him, shifting his weight so it wasn't pressing down on Jack anymore. He sat up straight leaning back onto his knees, but still over Jack's legs. He smiled at him. He reached out and ruffled Jack's blond hair, making him grimace.

"Good try, blondie," he said, standing up. "You might want to leave fighting to the big boys, though."

"Looks like Reyes is our win-," Holt started to say, but Jack jumped up.

"What is your problem with me, Reyes?!" he yelled. "We just met and you're already torturing me!" Reyes shrugged, smiling deviously.

"No problem with you," he replied.

Jack glanced at Holt who had taken a few steps back, reserving himself to watch the argument. He was too into drama and this juicy stuff.

"He does it to everyone, Jack, calm down," Brena said. Jack ignored her.

"Yeah, calm down, Morrison, your pasty skin is getting all red," Reyes teased.

Jack clenched his fist. He was a reserved and level headed man, but something about Reyes had just pushed over the edge. Jack moved towards him, moving into his face. Reyes grinned, amused, white teeth gleaming against his dark skin.

"You smell nice," he said, still teasing. Jack ignored that.

"I want a rematch," he growled. Reyes laughed a deep laugh.

"You're exhausted; I don't think you can go another round."

"I bet I can and I bet I'll win this time." Reyes shrugged.

"If that's what you want then how could I turn down that pretty face?" Jack growled as Reyes leaned back some. He looked at Holt in question.

"Sure, go ahead," the referee said, uncaring.

Reyes and Jack moved back into their fighting stances once again, a few feet apart. Reyes was smiling at Jack in a way that Jack couldn't quite read. He wasn't sure what Reyes's face was displaying. Was it admiration? Or just amusement?

"It's cute you think this is going to turn out any different," Reyes tormented. He half-smiled, his lip twitching up at the left side and making small little wrinkles.

"Someone has to put you in your place," Jack challenged. Reyes raised a dark eyebrow curiously.

"Where would that be, hm?" he asked. "Under you?" He winked, insinuating his innuendo. Jack's stomach twisted in a momentary knot. Did Reyes flirt with everyone like that?

"Possibly," Jack answered for lack of a better response.

He wasn't exactly sure how to handle Reyes's composure. It was so strange: violent yet flirty, competitive but teasing. Jack had managed a lot of men who had thought they were better than he was, but no one quite as conflicting as Reyes was turning out to be. His charm rivaled Jack's own and it was annoyingly disarming at times. A part of him liked the compliments, but another part was angered by it. He wasn't some air head pretty boy who would just swoon over men and women who came along with kind words.

"Is that a promise?" Reyes growled, rolling the words in a hefty tone from between his lips.

Jack scowled, clenching his fists. "Shut up, Reyes, and fight me… unless you're scared you're going to lose. Are you trying to stall?" Reyes smirked. He looked at Holt.

"Let's go drama queen," he grumbled. Holt shrugged, moving back away.

"Alright. Fight," said the officer.

This time Jack didn't give Reyes the chance to charge him. He moved towards him rapidly, dodging a jab and returning a punch to his ribs. Jack jumped backwards just as Reyes's fist swung causing the edge of his knuckles to brush Jack's shirt. He punched only for Reyes to block with his arms, a strong hit landing on his hard bone. Jack felt his knuckles split open and blood was left on Reyes's brown skin. He followed the blow up with a left handed punch, also hitting Reyes's defense. Jack brought up his knee, out of respect avoiding the groin and instead hitting him in the stomach. Reyes grunted, doubling over slightly. Jack swung once more, but Reyes recovered enough to move away from the hit.

"What are you doing, blondie? Hit me!" he yelled, challenging. He dropped his stance, stepping back to beckon his taunt. Jack was frustrated. He was sick of this guy and his pettiness. If he wasn't going to fight then Jack would give him what he wanted. He wound up his punch and forced his fist hard into Reyes's face.

He heard a crack – an awful popping noise. Reyes barely budged; he recoiled in pain, grasping his face in shock. Jack had half expected his blow was hard enough to cause him to hit the ground, but he hardly moved. How tough was this guy if Jack's full might didn't even shake him?

Jack blinked, realizing what he had done.

"Shit, Reyes," he murmured. Reyes's dark brown eyes moved up meeting Jack's. They stared hard at each other for what seemed like forever. It wasn't an angry glare or a smug one – it was more one of respect. Jack felt every cell in his body shiver.

Holt rushed over, grabbing Reyes by the shoulder and turning him to look. As Reyes reacted it broke the intimate gaze, allowing Jack to think again.

"You ok?" the officer asked. Reyes dropped his hands, revealing the blood mess that pooled from his nose. Some of that blood had gotten on Jack's knuckles. He wiped it on his pants.

"Do I fucking look ok?!" he hissed, returning to the pissy version of himself that Jack had met when he'd first arrived in the group. Holt tried to move closer to have a look, but Reyes took a few steps back. "Back off."

"I think he may have broken your nose."

"Yeah, no shit!" Blood was still pooling from his face, streaming onto his shirt and staining it burgundy.

"You're going to need to go to the med bay." Reyes shook his head.

"I've had worse," he insisted. His thick eyebrows knitted in frustration and sheer unwillingness.

"Reyes, go get that checked out."

"I'm fine." Holt scowled.

"That wasn't a fucking suggestion, Reyes, now go to the damned doctor!" Reyes straightened his shoulders and back, leaning towards Holt in a clear standoff. It was clear he didn't like being bossed around. He was challenging Holt and his authority. Jack would never admit that he found the whole situation a little exhilarating. After a second of dark stares, Reyes backed down and returned to his normal semi-relaxed posture. It was possible that he realized he _did_ need to get his nose looked at.

"Fine," he grumbled. He spun quickly and retreated back into the compound. Holt moved to follow him, but paused. He looked back at the crowd and at Jack.

"Oh, and Morrison, you're the champion."

* * *

"You really can't go in there, 76," the med ward nurse told him.

"I just want to make sure he's ok," Jack replied gently.

Jack genuinely felt guilty about hurting Reyes. He'd be so angered by him at the time that he just let his adrenaline take control. He didn't think things through like he should have. That was not the behavior that composed a leader – someone to be respected.

He had snuck away from the group in order to check up on him. Part of him expected Reyes to just punch him right in the face when he walked in. Still, he felt it was his responsibility. He was ready to face the consequences if confronted with them.

"I'm sorry, 76, but shouldn't you be with the other recruits doing training?"

He hated the number they used for him. It was dehumanizing. The doctors and medical staff were really the only ones to use it. He wasn't totally sure if any of them even knew the soldier's names. They had all been given a serial number which was branded on dog tags that they wore around their necks. The doctors used them to separate them out. Jack assumed it helped differentiate people with similar names. Still, it made him feel like just another number… another face among the sea of soldiers that mattered very little to the medical staff or to the world.

Jack fluttered his deep blue eyes, staring down at the nurse.

"They won't miss me," he said with a half-smile. The nurse rolled her eyes, her face pinching into a look of confliction. Jack leaned forward, over the desk she sat behind. He held himself up with his arms and cocked his head to the side. "C'mon." He reached out, touching her arm slightly. He found establishing contact always made it harder to turn him down. "I feel really bad about hurting him and I just want to make sure he's alright." The nurse sighed.

"He's being examined now." Jack cocked his head.

"I won't get in the way, I promise," he deepened his voice, turning it raspy but deep.

"They will be mad that I let you through." Her green eyes bore into Jack's hypnotized by the iris lakes. " _But_ you can go on in. He's just in the exam room over there." She gestured to a door down the hall. Jack released his gentle grasp on her arm and leaned away. He smiled wide at her.

"Thank you!"

"Just try to stay quiet."

"Will do."

Jack spun around, strolling down to the door the nurse had referenced. He opened it slowly, peeking inside.

"Don't you fucking prick me with that thing!" Reyes was yelling. There was an elderly nurse leaning up with a needle. Reyes was towering compared to her. She could barely reach him. His bleeding had been stopped and cleaned from his face, but his gray shirt was stained with the crimson liquid.

'Red looks nice on him,' Jack couldn't help but think.

"It will help your bones reform together faster," she explained.

"I don't care. I don't want that thing -," he cut off, hearing a creak come from the door. His brown eyes flicked up and once again lock with Jack's prying gaze. Jack blinked, partially startled by his own intrusion. The nurse turned, indicated to Jack's presence by Reyes's sudden attention.

"What are you doing in here?" she howled in confusion. "I'm with a patient."

"The – uh – the nurse in there told me I could come in," Jack explained. He shook his head, switching back into charm mode. "I came to see Reyes. I wanted to make sure he was doing ok."

"This isn't the ER, boy. He has a minor injury." Reyes chuckled, crossing his arms. He watched Jack with thorough scrutiny.

"I know," Jack said. He moved into the room, shutting the door behind him. "I just feel bad about the whole situation," he added smoothly. The nurse blinked.

"You're the one that did this?" she motioned to Reyes. Jack glanced at Reyes who was smiling with amusement. It was clear he wanted to see Jack explain it to the nurse.

"Yeah, but it was an accident."

"You punched me in the face," Reyes said. The nurse looked at her patient then at Jack, an accusatory look on her continence.

"You were practically asking for it," Jack responded to Reyes. "I mean, 'hit me,' is pretty straight forward." Reyes smirked. The nurse glanced between them.

"Ugh," she sighed. "I don't understand you young men. Too much testosterone." She gestured to Jack. "You can't stay."

Jack grinned. He moved from the door and stood in the corner – out of the way to the best of his ability. He observed as the nurse went back to Reyes with her needle. Reyes visibly cringed, arching away from the small pointed syringe. His eyes flicked momentarily to Jack, who, for some reason, smiled in encouragement. Reyes looked away, but stopped moving. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"It'll just be a pin prick," the nurse assured.

She lightly slid the small needle into the base of Reyes's nose. Reyes flinched. His fists balled and his jaw clinched. It was obvious he was trying not to pull away. She injected the liquid into him before withdrawing the syringe and backing away. Reyes flicked open his eyes, moving them to Jack.

"See, that wasn't so bad," she said. Reyes shrugged, clearly uncomfortable by what had happened. "Now, I need to go prepare a splint. You boys play nice while I'm gone, and don't touch your nose."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack said.

Reyes agreed with a grumble of, "Whatever."

The nurse left the room, leaving the two men alone together.

"You don't like needles?" Jack asked, not knowing what else to say. Reyes frowned.

"Hate them," he said. "I hate hospitals too."

"There a reason?" Reyes snorted.

"Got a shot when I was a kid. It made me so sick that I was hospitalized for two weeks. I don't trust them anymore." Jack chuckled.

"Holding grudges then?" he teased. Reyes smiled – fully this time.

"I'm good at grudges."

Jack looked down, hanging his head. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"I hope you're not going to hold one to me," he said, slowly. Reyes shook his head.

"No," he replied. He shrugged. "I _did_ tell you to hit me, and like I said, I've had worse. If I couldn't take a hit what kind of soldier would I be?"

"To be fair, you pissed me off, Reyes."

"That was my intention."

"I could tell." Jack sighed. He moved closer to Reyes, crossing his arms. He leaned against the exam table. It was a bit risky being beside Reyes. If he decided he wanted revenge then Jack was a sitting duck. He didn't really care though. He looked down, at the glimmering skin of his arm. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Reyes shifted beside Jack, moving his arm up. Jack flinched, catching the movement out of his peripheral vision. He thought he was about to be hit and was ready to dodge. However, Reyes simply clapped his hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Apology accepted," he said.

Jack glanced over at him.

"You going to be ok?" he asked.

Reyes released his hold on Jack's shoulder and moved to touch his nose. Jack made a noise of protest causing Reyes to stop in realization. He shuddered, a little uncomfortable. Maybe he had an itch.

"The nurse said the shit in that syringe is supposed to hyper boost the bone. They're ganna put a brace on me to hold it in place. I should be good in a few days." Jack nodded.

"Good. Don't want my mistake to interrupt your performance." Reyes grunted.

"Jesus, you're just… some kind of… golden boy, aren't ya?"

Jack looked over at him. Reyes's eyes were boring into the side of his face, taking in his form. He recoiled slightly when Jack caught his stare. He shook his head, trying to act nonchalant.

"I would've decked me too, Morrison," he said. Jack shook his head and looked away from Reyes.

"Golden boy, huh?" He asked.

Somehow, it was a nice title.

"That's what you are… with your hair and your goody goody attitude. I liked seeing you get all riled up. I liked the look of anger on your face when you punched me." He paused, seemingly thinking. He nudged Jack gently, drawing his attention. "I like the boy scout routine though too." Jack smiled and so did Reyes; their eyes mingling in a mutual stare.

Jack for some unknown force of the universe actually liked this asshole.

* * *

 _AN: Well that was a doozy. I would like to point out that this was the hardest chapter for me yet. I really struggled with young Jack Morrison's personality, and at one point I had written him incredibly bland and boring. It was so bad, I ended up jokingly calling him Saltine76 or Cracker76 because he was "as bland as a saltless saltine cracker" It wasn't for lack of vision. I kind of understood how I wanted him to be, but I couldn't find a way to make it translate. My friend, Nekorun, actually had to help me sort out a good personality profile for him which resulted in him being a little more relaxed and humorous than he had been originally. I'm still not sure if I'm 100% happy with how Jack turned out, but I'm hoping I can develop him in further chapters. I guess it's good Gabriel Reyes is so outspoken or the conversation may have been boring.  
_ _Anyway, thank you guys for reading! Reviews (especially regarding how you think I handled Morrison's personality and how you think he may have been) are appreciated greatly!_


	6. Chapter 6

Ch. 6

Present Day

Jesse McCree

There was something so surreal about how things had turned out. It was ironic, really. It was an irony that Jesse knew would come to bite him in the ass one day. He just didn't think it'd be so soon, and so awkwardly.

When McCree pictured his and Hanzo's reunion it would have went more along the lines of… a tear filled embrace. Of course, that was usually followed up by passionate and incredible sex. It was a spectacular vision that over the last twenty years he had ran through his mind over and over.

The reality was, admittedly, disappointing.

Hanzo still hated him… even after so long…

It was devastating having his past come back to haunt him again and again. He felt he could never make up for all the mistakes he had made. He could give and give and give and nothing would ever change. For the most part, he had comes to terms with the inevitability of it all. With Hanzo, though, there was a hope – a desire – deep within him that he could make up for everything. He wanted nothing more than to reconcile.

 _Thunk._

It was the sound of an arrow thumping as its velocity broke and pierced the red circle that had been painted on a distant propped up log.

 _Thunk._

McCree flopped down on a rock and propped his elbows up on his knees. He leaned his chin onto his palms, feeling the itch of his facial hair scratching against his skin. He watched as the archer pulled back the string of his bow. His fingers grasped the nock of the arrow, tensing the string and his muscles as he aimed. Jesse watched as each muscle in Hanzo's torso tightened, creating hard fleshy lines that trembled slightly with intensity. McCree, unknowingly, licked his lips.

 _Thunk._

The arrow smacked into the center of Hanzo's makeshift target. The archer reached into the quiver on his back, pulling another piece of ammo from the case. He repeated the steps: nocking the arrow, aiming, and shooting. Each shot was a perfect hit.

Hanzo was dressed once again in traditional Japanese clothing rather than casual clothes. McCree equated it to him wanting to be dressed close to this heritage when he was fighting or practicing. Perhaps, it helped center him. Honestly, McCree liked seeing him that way. Maybe it was just his attachment to his own cowboy get up, but he felt the kimono fit Hanzo better than anything else.

How sentimental.

It was good seeing him that way again. It was more how Jesse remembered him. So much had changed, but yet so little.

Hanzo drew back the arrow again. McCree watched his left arm tense as he held onto the grip. McCree's eyes ran up the exposed tattoo hugging his taunt arm that he remembered far too well. He could remember touching it obsessively; his fingers dancing across the ink. It was so beautiful… just like Hanzo…

"Do you mind?" Hanzo asked, his voice traveling back to Jesse. The archer didn't remove his eyes from the bullseye. It was almost as if he could sense McCree's presence. It was consistently that way. Hanzo could detect Jesse without even looking at him. He wasn't sure why. Sometimes he worried he smelt weird or something. Hanzo would always flash a slight grin when McCree nonchalantly sniffed his shirt.

"Sorry," McCree answered, watching as he released the arrow and it hit the target with a _thunk_. "Gotta fill my quota for the day, ya know?" Hanzo sighed, turning slightly to the cowboy.

"I know," he murmured, nocking another arrow.

McCree tried his best to give him his privacy. He couldn't be around all the time – everyone knew that. It wasn't like he enjoyed constantly prying, but Hanzo wasn't trusted. It was the only way he could stay and both men knew it. When McCree was around he tried to stay in the back and as quiet as could be. Since Hanzo was some sort of psychic, however, he always knew. Maybe McCree just wasn't a good spy – not that he really was spying. He made sure it felt nothing like that while simultaneously making sure the archer had no shady connections.

He didn't, either. After three weeks of being attached by an invisible chain, McCree had not once seen Hanzo contact anyone outside of Gibraltar. He never even seen him use a phone or any sort of communication device. He was fairly certain the results were conclusive, but the rest of Overwatch wasn't satisfied. So McCree had to stay around.

McCree watched rather intently as Hanzo fired another arrow.

"What's the deal with the bow?" he asked, shifting on his rock. "Last time I saw you, you were usin' a sword – like Genji does." Hanzo scoffed, turning towards McCree. Jesse tried not to look at his half exposed torso. He bit his lip, forcing his gaze to stare into Hanzo's angry eyes.

"A weapon now stained with my brother's blood," he growled.

Jesse scratched the back of his head. He didn't know the details of what Hanzo had done to Genji – he had never been bold enough to ask. It was really none of his business, and he didn't want to pry.

"I left it where it belongs – in Hanamura."

McCree wasn't sure how to respond so he just said, "The bow works well for you." When Hanzo's reaction was an irritated glare Jesse winked in an attempt to be charming. Hanzo rolled his dark eyes and turned back to his target practice. He drew back the string and –

 _Thunk._

"I didn't take it to please you," he huffed. Jesse sighed.

"I didn't say ya did…" McCree was silent for a moment. "You're quite good with that thing. Where'd ya learn to shoot like that?"

"Same place I learned all my skills," Hanzo replied.

"Your father?"

"No," the answer was quick. He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side. His black hair shimmered in the sun. He was so… "No, what I mean is, not exactly. Genji and I were primarily trained by teachers. We had masters: all of which Genji never treated with a fraction of the respect he has for that… _omnic_."

"Zenyatta's a good guy," McCree defended. Hanzo just shrugged.

"I do not know him well enough to truly judge."

"Genji's grown up… It's been a while see you've seen him, you know."

"If only he'd had this sort of drive back then this could have…" he trailed off, looking away as he lowered his weapon.

"Turned out a lot worse," McCree said surely. That's definitely not how Hanzo planned on finishing his sentence. He sighed. He didn't want to but he said, "Your clan still fell, Hanzo. If things a-been different then you and Genji may be dead…" Hanzo hung his head. He knew McCree spoke the truth.

"Perhaps," he said simply.

McCree sighed. He jumped up from his rock and moved closer to the archer. He took his hat off and rubbed his fingers through his hair thoughtfully.

"I'm glad… things didn't turn out differently…" he said. Hanzo's eyes darted over to him and he growled.

"I wish they would have," he murmured. That hurt Jesse just a bit.

"Ouch," he whispered. He sighed, crossing his arms and watching as Hanzo's drew back another arrow. "I think ya need to stop beatin' yourself up for the past." Hanzo released an exhaled breath and shot his arrow. It hit the center with a _thunk_.

"I could say the same for you." He moved away from Jesse, walking to the target and pulling his arrows from the red center.

"Guess we both got things we could repent for."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"You're making being friendly awfully tough, darlin'."

"Don't call me that," he practically spit as he returned to his sniping spot. He didn't even look at McCree as he drew his bow again.

"I don't get you, Hanzo Shimada." The archer tensed slightly, but Jesse couldn't exactly pinpoint as to why. He said nothing. "You ain't ever gonna get anywhere if you don't learn to forgive." McCree wasn't sure if he was talking about Hanzo forgiving himself or Hanzo forgiving McCree.

"Will you shut up?!" The archer yelled. He turned on Jesse with a flaring spike of rage burning in his intense gaze. "I've had enough of this line of conversation." He returned to his target practice. Jesse sighed.

"Sorry," he whispered, admittedly upset.

McCree watched as Hanzo repeatedly fired his arrows into the target, retrieved them, and then repeated the process. He stood in silence, not making a move to try and speak again. He knew Hanzo preferred that he just stay relatively out of the way, and to act like he wasn't there. He didn't like being a shadow. He wanted to talk.

Hanzo looked over at Jesse who was leaning quietly against a rock. McCree shot him a small, assuring smile. The archer sighed, turning back to his practice. Jesse felt that may be an invitation to speak once more. Maybe he wasn't as uncomfortable with talking as McCree thought.

"So, uh," he started, "that thing hard to learn?"

"It's more difficult than pointing and shooting a firearm," Hanzo replied, drawing his arrow.

"Aww, I'm hurt, darlin'." He didn't snap at him for the name this time. He just ignored it. "There's a little more to it than just pointin' n' shootin', I promise ya." He drew his revolver from its holster. He aimed at the target. "It's a little bit more difficult to get the aim right than it may seem. An' if yer aimin' ain't right then, well, the gun's pretty pointless." He fired a shot, causing Hanzo to jump at the sound. For a split second he drew his bow on Jesse in mere reflex. He let out a sigh, lowering it. McCree smiled. He moved over to Hanzo. "Sorry I scared ya."

"You didn't-…" he cut off. "Never mind." He turned back, pausing when he saw that Jesse's bullet had split the shaft of one of his arrows. He turned his eyes over to McCree, narrowed. "Did you have to do that?" He shrugged.

"Didn't have to." Hanzo grumbled. "You wanna try?" His eyes flicked over in question.

"What?"

"You wanna shoot it?" He stared at McCree in pure confusion. His eyebrows raised, eyes widened in an almost innocent way. There was hesitation, but it seemed like the answer to the question was 'yes.' McCree wasn't sure if he'd ever shot a gun before.

"I, uh," he paused. He seemed a little flustered. It appeared like he was uncertain if he wanted to indulge in a whim, or if he wanted to uphold his disciplined manner. He scratched his tattooed elbow. "Yes." McCree had to stop himself from hopping up in delight. Instead, he just smiled wide.

"Great!"

Hanzo leaned his bow up against a rock, and turned to Jesse. He held out his right hand.

"Not so fast, darln'." Jesse smirked. He set the gun in his hand. Hanzo awkwardly folded his fingers around the grip.

"It is heavier than I expected," he said.

"You can't underestimate it. It packs a lot of force. First, get a nice comfortable grasp on it." Hanzo nodded. "Don't put your finger on the trigger just yet. I don't want you accidentally shootin' yourself in the foot. Genji wouldn't be too happy with me…"

"I am not so foolish that I would wound myself on accident," Hanzo snapped. Jesse waved at him.

"Right, right, I know. Kay, now what you need to do is aim. You want your arm nice and straight and your elbow locked." As McCree spoke, Hanzo followed his instruction. "It's got some kick so you don't want it flying back and hittin' ya in yer pretty face," he hadn't meant to say pretty so he kept talking like he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. Still, he saw Hanzo's black eyebrow raise and his dark eyes flick over to him in question. "Now, take your other hand and wrap it around yer gun hand. It'll help steady your aim, and stop it from smackin' ya. You see that little nob there – that's the sight. You want to aim it at your target. Now, with the kick it's going to knock yer aim off a bit, so you'll want to compensate for that by aimin' down just a bit. You're already a good shot, so you shouldn't have too much trouble here. It'll help if you close one eye, and use the other to focus on what you want to hit." Hanzo flashed him a momentary glare. Jesse ignored it, but he noticed Hanzo was bending his elbow just a bit. "Lock your elbow," he repeated. "You want it nice and straight." He put his hand hesitantly on Hanzo's upper arm. Hanzo looked at him cautiously. He was fighting to not pull away. McCree's other hand cupped his elbow. He grasped his arm, holding it still while he pushed his elbow up into a straight position. "Locked," he murmured. He released him, his fingers burning where the skin to skin contact had been. His heart beat hard in his chest, though he didn't let that on to his student. He wouldn't swear to it, but there seemed to be the slightest blush on Hanzo's pale cheeks. Hanzo closed his left eye and tilted his head, aiming at the target he'd been practicing with. "Now just take a deep breath." Jesse breathed in as he said it. "Exhale and pull the trigger." He released his breath in tune with Hanzo.

 _Bang._

 _Bang._

 _Bang._

Hanzo popped off a few shots. Two hit on the outside of the red circle, but one hit the edge of it.

"Woah," the archer murmured.

"Cool right!" McCree exclaimed. "Ya got two other bullets in there, kick some ass." Hanzo watched Jesse with hesitance. "Go ahead," he encouraged. Hanzo turned back to the target. "Elbow straight!" he reminded. He noticed him roll his eyes.

"Elbow straight. I understand." He took another deep breath, aiming the gun once more. He pulled the trigger.

 _Bang._

 _Bang._

One bullet missed the target entirely, but the second one hit closer to the center than any of them.

"Not bad!" Jesse announced with a large smile. Hanzo handed him his revolver back. "Stepping into the twenty-first century!" Hanzo blinked at him.

"Says the cowboy," he said sarcastically. He simply blinked for a second longer before shooting McCree a sly smile to which he flashed a grin. The archer looked away quickly as if he was trying to stifle a large smile of his own. Jesse holstered his gun.

"Can I try your bow, now?" he asked.

Hanzo crossed his arms. It looked like he was going to say 'no' at first. After a second his stiff composure relaxed and he nodded. "You may," he said.

"Thank ya, kindly," he said, plucking the weapon from the place Hanzo had set it down. He looked at it in question for a few moments. "So, uh, how do you use this thing?" Hanzo sighed.

"Hold the grip with your non-dominant hand," Jesse grasped it tight in his left hand. "Hold it at arm's length and grasp the string with your right hand." When he carried out the instruction Hanzo continued by saying, "Now pull back the bowstring and release. That is the basic movements." He handed McCree an arrow. He showed him where to nock it and where to place it on the string. Before he could give further instruction McCree drew back the arrow and released it. It shot up in the air before arching down at low velocity and sticking in the ground. McCree scratched the back of his head.

"Wah wah," he mocked himself. Hanzo stomped his foot.

"If you would have been patient that wouldn't have happened!" he hissed. He was simmering like an angered dragon.

"I thought that was it," he admitted.

"That is a silly thing to think. I waited for you to finish your instruction – you can wait for me." McCree hung his head. Hanzo was way too good at shaming him.

"You're right, I apologize," he acknowledged, nodding. Hanzo just shook his.

"Get back into position," the archer directed. "Using a bow is not using a gun. It requires a lot more _control_ ," he put emphasis on the word. "You have to have the correct stance – the correct form. Spread your legs apart with your feet placed firmly on the ground." Jesse put his left foot forward a ways and his right back a little. "A little further," Hanzo commented, examining him. He stroked his facial hair. McCree adjusted. "Straighten your posture." Jesse lifted his shoulders and arched his spine. "No, straight," Hanzo sighed.

"This is straight," McCree said, glancing over his shoulder at the archer. Hanzo rolled his brown eyes.

"That is _not_ straight."

"I don't think I can…"With a huff Hanzo pressed his palm into Jesse's lower back, pushing against his spine. It didn't hurt, but the pressure made him arch his back further. Jesse's face flared in heat and he tried not to act as flustered as he instantly was.

"Uh-I… see what ya mean," he said back to him.

"Now broaden your shoulders," Hanzo said from behind him. It almost came like he was talking right in McCree's ear which made his nerves tingle. He swallowed hard. "You need to be an unmovable support for your weapon. You have to anchor it in the world." Jess held his shoulders high, lifting them up slightly.

The way Hanzo worded things was sometimes like unintentional poetry and it made Jesse's heart melt. His cute accent made things sound even more beautiful. The only thing he could think of was the sound of his voice in his ear. The hum was so familiar. He really wanted to…

"Jesse," Hanzo grumbled.

For a second it took McCree a moment to process that he hadn't flattened his shoulders but lifted them. He had been lost in thought. He didn't have time to fix his mistake because his brain was suddenly being wrangled by the fact that Hanzo had called him Jesse… instead of McCree. The way it rolled off his tongue was so dreamlike. The last time he'd said that name there'd been tears in his angered eyes before it dropped to the formal last name. His brain reflected on the sound and he could almost hear it being gasped pleasurably into his ear. The blush on his cheeks burned brighter and he was glad that Hanzo wasn't looking at his face.

"That is _not_ flat." For second Jesse could swear there was a tremble in his normally strong voice. Then – his hands were there – firmly pressing down into McCree's shoulders. His fingertips dug lightly in Jesse's muscles. One of his fingers brushed the side of McCree's neck. It burned like he'd been lit on fire – and in some ways he had. Hanzo pushed down and pulled back, moving McCree's shoulders into a flat, strong position. Jesse could feel the warmth of Hanzo's body so near to his. As Hanzo went to move away McCree could swear that he felt hesitation. He lingered, moving back then reaffirming his grasping position for just a half-second longer. Finally, he stepped away. "Now, draw the string." McCree did. "Steady your arms and aim like you would aim your gun." McCree did. "Let the arrow go."

McCree released the string. The arrow launched forward at the target. It arched slightly, tearing through the air before the tip struck, lodging at the edge of the mark.

McCree's face lit up – a grin spreading across his countenance. He spun around to look at Hanzo. His smile was huge and he was so proud of himself. He didn't expect Hanzo to be smiling, but he hoped for more than a scowl – a look of accomplishment, maybe? Hanzo was glowering. His eyebrows were knitted. Jesse's smile instantly faded.

"I hit the target," he said innocently.

"You did," Hanzo murmured. Jesse pulled his eyebrows together. He looked at him with some concern.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Yes." Hanzo took a step back. "I'm going to return to my room now - if you're done babysitting me." McCree frowned. "Can I have my bow?" He handed the archer his weapon. "You can tell your fellow members that I have yet to contact Talon." He moved away from McCree.

"Hanzo," McCree said gently.

"No, McCree," he replied, returning back to calling him by his last name. "Goodbye." He turned away and walked off.

McCree sat back on the rock he had been on before. He put his chin in his hands and slumped over.

There was so much he loved about seeing Hanzo again, but trying to ignore what they had was very hard for him. He wasn't sure how Hanzo did it so easily because it was tearing him up inside. He wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend.

* * *

Genji Shimada

The doctor's eyes kept flicking over to him. They were cautious – accusatory even. It was as if he was waiting for the cyborg ninja to start viciously murdering everyone in the room. He was simply standing off the side with his hands folded behind his back. He scanned the room for danger, but kept catching the doctor's cold glare.

"He really doesn't like you," Pharah said, leaning towards him slightly and whispering. Genji nodded.

"He thinks I am an omnic, and he clearly is against them."

"I guess it's good that Zenyatta didn't come then." He nodded, holding his body straight and proper. Admittedly, the glares made him uncomfortable.

Angela was discussing her treatment of the patients they had dropped off. Some of them had recovered enough to return home. Others, like the girl Genji had saved, would need further treatment and/or therapy. She, for one, would have to get used to her prosthetics. Genji had tried to help her, and she had shown improvement. She would need to continue to adjust, however, and those doctors would assist.

Angela spoke French marvelously. Genji was always considerably impressed by her intelligence no matter how long he'd known her. She was such a skilled woman and he'd never met the likes of her in anyone else. After the collapse of Overwatch he had missed her companionship dearly.

Mercy turned away from the hospital doctor, nodding. She said something in French before saying in English for Genji and Fareeha's benefit, "I would appreciate discretion here, Dr. Rousseau. The PETRAS act is still in effect, and I would not like being arrested."

"You have shown these men and women kindness. I would not dream of harming an extraordinary medical professional like yourself," the doctor replied in a thick French accent.

Angela stood between her fellow Overwatch members. Rousseau looked between the cyborg ninja who he still believed to be an omnic and the large Egyptian woman who grimaced at him. He was clearly intimidated by them – as was their purpose.

"Of course he wouldn't," Fareeha said, crossing her arms threateningly.

"I hope my patients are well taken care of," Angela said.

"They will be, Dr. Ziegler," he assured.

Genji got a weird feeling from this man. He was very unsure of him and his intentions. He didn't know if they could trust him. He believed Pharah felt the same hence her protectiveness.

"You are taking a risk, you know," the doctor said.

"Being here? Or trusting you?" Genji asked, his synthesized voice deepening in attention. The doctor narrowed his eyes at him, clearly skeptical. "Perhaps both," Genji added.

"The three of you should be on your way before you compromise yourselves, and bring me down with you," he said harshly. His eyebrows pulled together, forming crescent lines.

"It's smart to be cautions," Angela said. "My companions and I will be on our way. I hope you honor our agreement. I would hate to see things end badly." Genji understood that Angela wasn't talking about them, but about the good doctor. He enjoyed the underhanded threat. At least that way, he would think twice before turning them over to the authorities like Genji knew he was considering.

"Of course, of course," the medical man said nervously.

"Goodbye dear, Dr. Rousseau." Angela turned to move away. Genji followed after her quickly, moving in quickened step to stay by her side. Pharah lingered behind, glaring at the doctor before catching up to the duo.

"I like your scary side," Fareeha said, teasingly jabbing Mercy in the arm with her pointed finger. Angela looked up at the solider, her blue eyes shimmering at the other woman through her thick lashes. She grinned.

"I think he got the point," she said, grinning in self-satisfaction.

"I think we need to be as careful as possible," Genji said vigilantly.

"Agreed, Genji."

It was a risk bringing the patients into France. The UN was currently very conflicted with Overwatch. The PETRAS act made it dangerous to make their presence known. The UN didn't have a problem leaving them be as long as they were staying in Gibraltar. They even looked the other way when they were fighting Talon. Every other time, however, Overwatch activity was illegal and that was enforced. Of course, that didn't stop them from operations – they just had to be a little more secretive about it all.

Their transport ship had been picked up on radar during their landing, and it had been tagged. It was clear they'd discovered who it'd belonged to, and were now looking for more traces of Overwatch as well as watching radar or incoming vehicles. Unfortunately, that meant the group was left stranded in France until security calmed down. Athena was monitoring their communications and watching for when that moment would be. Until then, the three were going to have to lay low and play civilian.

They couldn't go anywhere near Overwatch safe houses. They weren't public knowledge, but there was risk that they could have been discovered by local police and were off limits. They had limited funds, no change of clothes, and nowhere to go.

Fareeha decided that their best bet would be to find a hotel until they were cleared to leave. They arranged for Winston to wire them some money under false names, so that they would have enough to live off of during their "vacation." Genji hoped that it wouldn't be for too long. He felt strange in that place. People stared at him with confusion more than he was used to. He missed Gibraltar already.

The inside of the hotel was very extravagant. It was a blinding radiance of light beige and white – as if the colors were that different. It was decorated in marble pillars, plush day sofa's, and black stained wood tables decorated in French magazines. As they approached the counter he could see it was made of the same wood as the end tables, but was inlayed with a gold colored metal. Genji doubted it was real gold, but it was over the top anyway.

It was much different than anything he'd experienced in Japan, or anywhere else for that matter. On his travels he'd avoided hotels… especially like this. He knew he wasn't welcome. He found himself in a very unfamiliar situation, and wasn't sure how to handle it exactly.

"I am uncomfortable, Angela," he whispered to Mercy as they approached the counter. Fareeha was on point, striding towards the concierge with her shoulders held high. She was dressed in tight jeans and a leather jacket, but the way she held herself it was almost as if she could fool one into thinking she belonged in such a grand location.

"You will be ok, Genji," she assured.

"I do not belong here."

"You belong anywhere we do." Genji looked at the glinting floor.

"The list of those locations is becoming ever scarcer these days," he joked.

"Bonjour," the concierge said looking the group over with suspicion as they approached the counter.

"Greetings," said all three heroes at the same time.

"English then," the desk clerk said. "Welcome to the…"

"Yes, I know where we are," Fareeha said. The stiff faced clerk pushed up his thin rimmed glasses and huffed. He held his chin high.

"Then can I help you?" he asked.

"We would like to rent a room," she answered. The man looked between each member. His eyes froze on Genji. It was a look of disdain that Genji knew all too well.

"Who are… _we_?" Fareeha looked back at her companions. There was a look of uncertainty on her face, like she hadn't thought that far ahead. She looked back at the concierge. "I am Amalia Naheema and," she wrapped her arm around Angela, pulling her hard against her side. She locked her arm, pinning Angela against her while a look of shock lit her continence. "This is my wife, Melissa." Mercy's eyes flicked between Pharah and the clerk. She blinked her eyes before wrapping her arm around Fareeha's shoulders.

"That's me…" she murmured awkwardly.

Genji glared at the couple from behind his visor. He was glad no one could see his eyes because they'd know he felt jealousy.

"And the uh…," the concierge motioned to Genji.

"He's our omnic friend," Fareeha said urgently. Genji hated the idea of them further solidifying him as an omnic. He knew it'd cause trouble. "He's here for our protection."

"Protection from what?"

Pharah didn't know how to keep quiet.

"From street crime." Genji rolled his disguised eyes. He wanted to speak up, but restrained himself.

"Right… Let me just see what we have." He turned from them and began tapping away on a holo-computer – it _was_ a fancy place.

"Why would you need a body guard?" Genji whispered to Pharah.

"You couldn't come up with something better?" Angela asked.

"I panicked," she answered. "He bought it. We're fine." Genji sighed. He watched as the concierge read from a screen painted in French. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the fancy hotel. He didn't know why they couldn't have stayed at some place less… on the map. It would have been far simpler – maybe even raised less eyebrows. Some part of him thought maybe this was a cheaper place, and everything in France was super gaudy.

Genji shifted, leaning towards the counter. His eyes moved around the room in search of any sign of danger. There weren't many people in the lobby – two or three. Of those people one was a woman with a child, and the other was an elderly man. He didn't find threats in either guest. He turned his vision to the concierge. This man was one to watch. His suspicion was dangerous. If he worried too much then he may look into it and discover their true identities.

The desk phone rang and the clerk answered it. He responded to the unheard voice in rapid French most likely answering questions about the hotel. Genji sighed. He needed to relax. If he was acting alert then that would draw more attention to them. He flexed his metallic fingers. His eyes moved across the desk, looking at the French brochures and jars of fancy chocolates. On the far end of the jars of truffles was a golden plate of crispy brown cookies drizzled in chocolate. Genji's eyes went wide.

"Cookies," he whispered excitedly under his breath. He glanced over at the concierge whose back was turned and attention was elsewhere. Genji reached for the cookies using his ninja-trained swiftness to his advantage. His plan was simple: swipe a cookie and hide it behind his back. If the concierge noticed he would be questioned, but Genji knew they were free to guests. He wrapped his robotic fingers around a single cookie, careful not to put pressure or it would crumble. He began to withdraw it from the plate, but a black notebook smacking him hard in the hand caused him to jerk away. It didn't hurt, of course, but it startled him. He'd been so focused on getting the cookie that he didn't even notice that the concierge had turned back. His flinch caused his joints to lock, crushing the cookie before he released its pieces and stepped back.

"What are you doing?!" the clerk demanded.

"He was just getting a cookie," Fareeha said, trying her best to sound nonchalant.

"It is an omnic," he hissed. "It does not need… _cookies_." He glared at Genji with hate filled eyes.

The treatment of the omnics was a sad thing. Being half himself he'd gotten a fair bit of racism. Though, to an extent, when people found out he was half human it turned more to disgust or interest. In cases like that it was best for him to pretend no matter how hard it was. He had resigned himself to the conduct, and tried to make peace. It was hard to understand that kind of blind hatred, however. Being careful made sense. The omnics had raged one intense war, and even three decades later the effects were still being seen. However, the omnics that Genji knew – omnics like Zenyatta – wanted nothing but concord among their races. They regretted the actions of the past, and desired only peace and equality. People like that concierge made true harmony impossible.

"I don't see the problem. He wanted it, so why does it matter?" Fareeha questioned.

"How could you trust having that _thing,_ " he said the word with so much revulsion, "around you. Do you know what they did during the Omnic Crisis?!"

"More than most," Angela whimpered, her melodious voice cracking in emotion. Genji placed a solid hand on her shoulder gently. He knew her past and how hard things were for her. Despite that, she held nothing but love for all creatures: human or omnic... or in Genji's case: both. People like that desk clerk could learn a thing or two from beautiful beings like Angela. Pharah was looking at Mercy with a gleam of sympathy. Her arm was still around her, and it allowed her to pull Angela close against the other woman's body. Angela squeezed Fareeha's waist and leaned against her for support. Even after all these years… things were still so raw.

"Omnics are not welcome here!" the concierge spat in Angela's face. Genji thought about taking his mask off then and there. He wanted to stare into the man's cruel hazel eyes with his own very human ones and he wanted to shout, "Do I look like an omnic to you?!" He wanted to rub the man's bigotry in his face, but he knew it was too dangerous. Genji would never put his pride in the way of his friend's safety. He restrained himself, hanging his helmeted head instead.

"Then we will find somewhere else to stay," Fareeha defended. She clutched Angela tighter, taking a step rearward. The concierge scoffed, a smug look blooming on his face like a flower on the cusp of spring.

"No hotel will take you, darling," he said, narrowing his eyes. Fareeha scowled, she raised her shoulders in defiance. "We all have the same policies. Your _friend,_ " he used the word skeptically, "will not be welcome in any hotel in Paris. We do not want to be destroyed from within like… all those other places the wretches ripped to pieces." Genji caught the two women from leaving.

"It's ok," he said. "You two stay. I will… go sit outside."

"Absolutely not, Gen-…" Mercy began, eyebrows knitting in defiance. Her blue eyes flared, but Genji held his palm up.

"No, Angela," he said quietly so that the clerk wouldn't hear her name. "It will be ok."

"This is ridiculous," Fareeha said. "You can't sleep outside!"

"You two stay," Genji insisted. He held his finger up to shush protesting. "You two get a room, open a window, and I will scale up." They looked at him with unease and hesitation.

"I don't like it," Angela said.

"We do not have much choice," he whispered. They were hesitant, but Fareeha and Angela nodded in agreement.

Slowly, the fake couple rounded back to the counter. Fareeha glared, challenging the concierge with a violent flare of eyebrows to say one asshole comment. Genji kind of wanted to see him get beat senseless by the Egyptian soldier. He knew, however, it'd be best if they didn't draw attention to them with an assault charge.

"We… will take the room," Fareeha aid between her teeth. Her brown eyes glared hard at the clerk. Still, a large Cheshire grin spread across his face in satisfaction.

"Of course Mrs. Naheema," he hummed. He turned from the trio, retrieving a keycard. He handed it over the desk. Pharah snatched it and slid him the money to pay for the first night. "Room sixteen on floor four. Enjoy your stay, but get your omnic out of here." He refused to look at Genji. His tone was so heartless.

Genji escorted himself from the hotel. He moved around the side, sitting quietly against a wall in an alley way. He folded his legs one over the other and rested his hands together. He felt anger and frustration. He felt the inevitability and the helplessness of his situation. People like that concierge made the world such a dark place. They were the reason for the tension now – the reason a second omnic crisis seemed more and more unescapable. Overwatch were a necessity in times like these… they were the only ones who could change the minds of the masses. It was a shame they were all criminals. Amazing heroes like Angela… were to be apprehended on sight simply because they wanted a better world.

Angela… she was the best of what they had to offer; an unearthly mortal too good for the world. She was a paragon of humanity – a beautiful angel among a crowd of demons. Genji looked down at his own form… Was he himself a demon – an oni? And what of his brother – of Hanzo?

He didn't want to think on that.

His thoughts returned to Angela. His mind's eye found that beautiful face that his eyes had first opened to after seeing nothing but darkness for so long. She was so beautiful, her big blue eyes gleaming at him in love and joy. She was a bright light that filled the bleakness that had overtaken him, bringing him from the brink.

Genji's eyes flicked up from his meditation. He wasn't sure how long he'd zoned out. They searched the citizens walking the street like the world wasn't falling apart around them. He envied their naivety. A part of him longed for the days of his carefree lifestyle: running about Hanamura, doing whatever he pleased, pestering his brother, romancing any woman he came across. Now, he was a… oddity of nature… and his life was wrapped around Overwatch. His brother hated himself and was weary of Genji. Angela was the only woman his heart soared for.

Genji looked at the city, taking in the sights of the city they had found themselves in. His mind was stuck on Angela, however. He despised how jealous Fareeha's fake marriage lie had made him. He despised how jealous Angela holding onto her as her sadness overtook her made him. He wondered if they may have… something… something that he wanted. The thought made him despise that it would be much better for Angela if she were to pursue such a relationship. As he thought of her light his eyes spotted something almost… too fitting.

Across the street in a small boutique Genji saw a dress. It hung in the large window of the tiny shop. He leapt up from his spot and moved towards it. Even though he was an "omnic" no one seemed to notice as he pushed by. He stood in front of the window, gazing inside at the garb. It was white – as white as he thought possible, gleaming almost in the sun. It was a summer dress – made of cotton with short spaghetti straps in place of sleeves. It was long in the back, but cut to the knees in the front making a flowing train of loose white cotton. Lace lined the edge of the tight bodice and train. He wasn't totally sure, but it looked about Angela's size, and it would absolutely fit her perfectly. It was beautiful and bright… just like her.

Genji had to get it for her.

The problem was: the workers would freak if he just walked in the door.

He had to get it for her… he had to find a way…

* * *

Scaling a wall with one hand wasn't the easiest thing Genji had had ever done. Luckily, there were balconies on every floor so the free climb wasn't too long before he got solid footing once more. He could see Pharah leaning over the railing, beckoning him to hurry or risk him being spotted. He was grimacing at her, but she couldn't see his face. He jumped the railing, landing deftly on his feet in front of the woman.

"I think he put us on a high floor just so you couldn't climb into our room," she said with a smug grin. Genji chuckled.

"Not everyone has the agility of a cyborg ninja," he joked, moving past Fareeha and into the hotel room.

The room was rather small – smaller than what he expected for such an upscale hotel. It had a single king sized bed framed up by a large plated mirror. Everything in the room was beige and white like the lobby. It was actually a nice relaxing lightness that washed cool over Genji. He could see a door off to the side; a light was cracking through the bottom. He assumed it was the bathroom. There was a large screen TV on a beige wooden table. It was turned on and switched over to the news, but muted. English subtitles played across the bottom. He caught something about a Talon attack in London.

Fareeha flopped on the edge of the bed. She crossed on leg over the other, placing her elbow on her knee. She leaned forward with her chin in her palm watching the news with attention.

"We need to get back to Gibraltar," Genji said, shaking his head. "Is it anything too serious?"

"Just a raid… they stole some things. Not too many people were hurt – no casualties, I believe. "

"Do you know what they stole?"

"The news didn't say. I tried calling Lena, but she didn't answer."

"Reinhardt told me that they're looking into it," Angela said as she came out of the bathroom, her phone in hand. She sat it down. "Athena detects that Paris is still on red alert for Overwatch activity. I'm not sure how long we'll be here."

"Are they sending anyone to England?" Fareeha asked.

"Jesse, I think."

"That's all?" Genji asked, concerned.

"Lena and Torbjörn left shortly after we did… I," she paused, looking at Genji with a hint of caution in her sky eyes, "I believe Winston intends to send your brother with him." Genji tensed. He did worry about his brother, but he was more than capable. Still, London had become a Mecca of Talon activity. It was a risk, but all he could hope was that McCree would watch out for him. He never spoke on his doubts. He knew Fareeha still had reservations about Hanzo even being within the organization.

"He will not let us down," Genji assured, instead. He wasn't so certain himself. He knew, though, that Hanzo now had a chance to prove himself. He could only hope that he chose right.

"I have faith that he won't," Angela said gently. "They hope it's nothing serious…"

"I have a feeling that is not the case." He shook his head, pacing across the room. "But it is not within in our control currently. I believe that the two of you," he looked at Mercy and Pharah, "should fight against your natures and not worry. Let's take this time as something of a… vacation."

"Genji…" Fareeha started to say, but Genji interrupted.

"Let us just pretend." He took a deep breath, unable to feel the air in his lungs, and exhaled nothing. "Try to relax," he said.

"Not all of us are," she paused to think of the proper word, "zen," she added semi-awkwardly. Genji smirked under his helmet.

"I am not saying we must meditate." He swiped his finger across the holo-remote and switched the TV to some movie channel. "Just try doing something that isn't worrying about work." Fareeha sighed. She leaned back on the bed, propping herself up by her elbows and staring hard – almost too hard – at the television. Genji turned to Angela. He smiled behind his helmet, but no one could see. "I got you something, Angela," he said gently. He held out the dress that he'd been clutching his whole way up to the room. She looked at him in question, her blue eyes darting down to the white cotton Genji held in his left hand. He folded his metal fingers open, offering it to her. Slowly, she took it in both of her small hands.

"Genji… I… you…" she stumbled over words in her sweet accent. She held it up stretching it before her so she could take it in. Despite what may have sounded like a protest, Genji could see her blue eyes shimmer at the sight. A slight smile tugged at her pink lips. "Genji it's… it's beautiful." She lowered it, her eyes darting to Genji's helmet. He could see the previously present worry melt away – if only for a moment. Fareeha's eyes had turned on them, taking in the scene playing out. Genji glanced over at her. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were knotted in a frown. She was jealous.

Hmph. That was payback for the marriage thing.

His eyes returned to Angela as she said, "How did you get this?"

"You may not want to know," he replied, an invisible sly smile on his lips. "I did not steal it – no worries there."

"I would never assume that," she said in the most breathless way as her gaze turned back to the dress.

In truth, he _hadn't_ stolen it. He'd just dashed in, swiped the dress and left the payment behind where it had been. No one had seem him enter or leave. His ninja skills were good for tasks other than killing.

"Go try it on," he goaded, motioning to the bathroom. She beamed, spinning without protest, and retreating into the other room to change.

"That was nice of you," Fareeha said with Angela out of earshot. Genji turned to her.

"She is a woman befitting only the most beautiful of dresses." The other woman smirked, leaning back a little further. Her eyes moved to the TV as she mused the idea. Genji could almost see her turning it around in her brain, examining each angle of it. A quiet rumble vibrated from the center of Pharah's chest. She pursed her lips.

"That she is."

Mercy opened the door. She stepped from the bathroom bathed in the warm yellow light from the bathroom. As she emerged both Genji and Fareeha fell quiet, their eyes widening as they observed her.

"Well," she said, smiling, "what do you think?"

Angela's beauty always astounded Genji. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, but somehow she still managed to look even prettier. The dress hugged her thin frame absolutely perfectly, highlighting her figure. The white flowed long in the back, almost touching the floor. In the front it exposed her pale white and flawless legs from the knee down. It was loose, flowing delicately around her and rustling slightly with each subtle movement. She'd let her hair down as well: beautiful light blonde locks curtaining her pointed angelic face. Anyone rarely saw Angela with her hair down. She stood in the glowing light with a huge smile on her beautiful face and her blue eyes gleaming in simple joy.

Genji's heart swelled. In that moment, he wasn't sure if he'd ever felt that way about another girl in his life. He'd been with many of them, but Angela was one of a kind. She was a magnificent creature with a heart of gold and the face on an angel. His heart squeezed tight in his chest. She was just so…

"Beautiful," both Genji and Fareeha said in breathless harmony.

* * *

 _A/N: Admittedly, this chapter is kind of filler. The first half is a little boring because of it, but I did enjoy how the second half turned out (it was meant to be longer, but got split off and will be continued later). I'm biding my time before I bring in a specific character, and I didn't feel doing it so soon was appropriate. I figured making a whole chapter dedicated to relationship development would work... even if a fourth of it is describing poorly how to shoot a weapon. Also, I decided almost on a whim to throw in some Pharmercy. The relationship has become a little more appealing to me lately, and I thought it would be interesting to give Genji a little competition. Reyes/Morrison and McCree/Hanzo have destructive and sad pasts as their conflict... Genji/Mercy have Pharah.  
_

 _All reviews are very very much appreciated! Thanks for reading. Next chapter is past Hanzo/McCree._


	7. Chapter 7

Ch. 7

McCree's First Mission

Hanzo Shimada

Spending time with his little brother was always an interesting event – to say the least. Hanzo sometimes felt like he was being forced to baby sit his sixteen year old sibling. His father would instruct him to "Keep Genji out of trouble." He didn't understand how next to impossible that was. Genji did whatever he wanted without regard for the trouble he'd get the elder Shimada in. It was always Hanzo in trouble. He did all that he was told, but was still disciplined for the younger's blithe actions.

For once, he believed he'd had him on lock and key. Hanzo had distracted his brother with the promise of ramen and a movie. Genji was excited to spend the day with his older brother – he always was. Genji was a hyper, lighthearted and friendly young man, and sometimes Hanzo didn't really understand why he liked being around him so much. He was in all ways of personality his opposite, but despite that his brother still loved doing things with him. Hanzo loathed being on babysitting duty, but admittedly liked being with his younger brother even if he could get overtly annoying.

That day their father was going to be meeting with a rival yakuza gang. They were going to be discussing the terms of peace between the sects. However, his father had subtly expressed to Hanzo the possibility of violence. He, perhaps, believed it may be towards the rivals in an unprovoked manner. He'd told Hanzo that he would like to have his heir there, but worried too greatly for the baby's wellbeing and therefor sent the more competent Shimada away to guard over him. Hanzo wasn't sure if he was offended or honored.

He wondered if his father cared so much for his own welfare as he did for Genji's.

"Just how you like it! Plain and boring!" Genji announced, placing the noodles in front of Hanzo. He flopped on the parallel stool with an exaggerated _oomph_ , eying his own bowl with excitement. Hanzo wish he had that much enthusiasm for something so mundane. Everyday life may have turned out much more remarkable.

Hanzo wrapped a noodle around his wooden stick. He glanced over at his brother who was slurping at his. He hated slurping. It was annoying – always had been. However, more recently it reminded him of the _American._

Genji grinned knowingly. He sat his bowl down and leaned back slightly.

"Your brow is turning red, brother," he said with a hint of mischief.

"Because of all that sound you are making," Hanzo retorted.

"I do it on purpose." Hanzo rolled his eyes.

"I know," he replied stonily, taking a bite.

"You think we'll have time to stop by the arcade before the movie?" Genji asked. Hanzo rolled his eyes.

He had known it was unwise going to the ramen shop near his brother's favorite hangout. There was always the potential of running into Genji's friends, but the possibility tripled when near that arcade. His friends were a distraction of a kind that Hanzo didn't allow for himself. Friends were unnecessary.

"No," he replied shortly. Genji scowled, his thick brows crinkling in frustration.

"Why not?!" he demanded.

"Because we will surely miss the movie." He huffed, folding his arms dramatically.

"Not," he argued. Out of the corner of Hanzo's eye he could see a flash of green move erratically, but he ignored his little brother's tantrum.

"Yes. If Iyani is there or any girl that is even slightly attractive you will be occupied for hours. There will be no prying you away."

"You're full of it, Hanzo."

"And you have no self-control, Genji."

Hanzo did not approve of Genji's friends. They were bad influences, and led his brother astray from his duties. Their father did not even try to regulate them. It infuriated Hanzo how their father allowed his little brother to run wild without worry while he did everything that was demanded of him and was still berated for the smallest mistakes.

Hanzo ate his noodles hoping that his brother wouldn't further argue with him. He didn't want to have to tackle him and drag him from the arcade. He hoped, however, that if he did manage to get side tracked that it would keep him from the mansion long enough for their father to conclude his business. Genji really didn't need his brother to lead him about the city in a distracting charade. He simply needed his father to give him some money and push him out the door with a word of a late curfew. Genji would distract himself. At least then Hanzo could have stayed with the adults and helped defend their clan.

He never considered that perhaps their father was trying to protect him as much as he was Genji. He knew only that he was capable and disciplined unlike his brother. He could stand with the best of them.

Genji's slurping ceased. He leaned back on his stool – far enough that for a moment Hanzo thought he might fall out of it. He reached to grab him, but Genji popped up straight. He grinned.

"Do you really have to move so much?" Hanzo asked.

"Keeps ya on your toes, brother." He sighed. "So did you have to wear that? We're just going to a movie." Genji motioned to his brother's suit. He was wearing a tucked white button up shirt and black suit pants. Hanzo looked at his attire.

"It is nice."

"I asked for casual, and that is not."

"It's not a kimono."

"I meant a t-shirt." He waved at his own short sleeved casual black cotton shirt that had a pachimari on the front. It was stupid and Genji looked ridiculous in it.

"I have some self-respect."

"Would it kill you to get the stick out of your a-?" Hanzo hit him; popping him on the arm with the back of his hand. "Ow, dude."

"We are in public, Genji," he hissed.

"Damn, you need to get laid." Hanzo glowered – his brows crinkling together and his mouth turning into a hard line. He took a bite of his food, trying his hardest not to snap further at his brother. Genji waggled his eyebrows, his gaze fixed past Hanzo's head. "Speaking of laid…" he pointed slightly with a nod. "That girl over there is staring at you." He winked one of his silver eyes.

"Staring at you, most likely," Hanzo murmured, not bothering to look to whom his brother was motioning to.

"No, she's definitely looking at you." Genji grinned. "And now she's looking at your ass." Hanzo's eyes went wide. Genji leaned back in his seat slightly, looking at the aforementioned location on his brother. "I mean… in that suit… it _does_ look good." Hanzo jumped, reaching to cover himself. A deep blush flushed over his face. "Don't be so obvious!" Genji whisper-yelled. He waved his hands. " _And_ now she's looking the other way because she knows she's been spotted. Good going, brother. This is why you're single." He crossed his arms.

" _Good going?"_ Hanzo quoted, still flustered – his face pink with embarrassment. "You're the one that was… that… You were… you were the one looking at my…" Rarely, was he ever at such a loss for words. Genji laughed – guffawed, really. He leaned back holding his slim stomach with a pale hand and howled. The noise caused eyes to dart in the Shimada brothers' direction. "Genji, shut up!" Hanzo demanded. Genji took a breath, drawing in deep air.

"Right, right, sorry. You're just so adorable when you're flustered." He tried to pinch his elder brother cheek, but Hanzo slapped the hand away.

"Genji," he grumbled. Genji smiled, sitting upright and leaning away to give his brother space.

"Alright, alright." He took a bite of his noodles this time – as opposed to slurping them. "She's cute though." He motioned back to the girl. Her posture was stiff and straight and her head twitched at the sound of the younger Shimada's voice. She was obviously trying to avoid looking at them once more, but was listening to the best of her ability.

"If you say so," Hanzo mumbled. He kept his head down at his food. His black hair curtained his face, blocking his view of the girl.

"Just a peek, bro, c'mon."

"No." He sighed.

"Fine. Have it your way. I guess I'll just go back to slurping my noodles." He went to pick up the bowl, pausing to glance slyly at Hanzo. Hanzo rolled his eyes – understanding the threat. He didn't give. Genji moved it closer to his mouth – his sideways gaze still lingering on his brother. He inched it closer and closer, waiting for Hanzo to stop him. "Okaaaaay," he hummed, putting it to his lips.

"Alright!" Hanzo agreed. He peeked through his hair to the left, looking at the girl briefly. She was alright looking – nothing particularly special, but still cute. He shrugged, looking back at Genji. He was sitting at attention with his bowl placed on the table. An expectant smile plastered on his face. "She's fine. Not my type though." The girl slouched her shoulders.

"Dude, why?" Hanzo shrugged, resuming his meal.

"Do I need a reason?" Genji sighed.

"What _exactly_ is your type? Do you even have one?" Hanzo glanced at his brother. He brushed his hair back in thought. He felt unsure.

"Not her," he replied simply. Genji rolled his eyes.

"Let me set you up with someone."

"With who? One of the girls you are done messing around with? No thank you." Genji jumped.

"No! No, I have a few girls in mind that would be good for you… boring girls." Hanzo looked at his brother skeptically.

"Ah, so the ones who are not good enough for you then?" He huffed, turning his head away from the younger Shimada. He took a bite of food.

"Hanzo, no." Genji huffed. "What kind of brother do you think I am?" He shot an innocent smile.

"The kind who would give me his passing flings." Genji sighed.

"I would not. I promise."

"This whole conversation is trivial, Genji, because I _do not_ want you to find me a date."

"Well, you're not finding your own."

"That is because I am not interested in any sort of romance." Genji blinked – his silver eyes beaming confusion. It wasn't surprising. Genji was always out to find his next girl to woo. It made sense that he wouldn't understand that someone may not just be looking out for sex.

"Why?"

"It is an unnecessary distraction." Genji's stare was blank. He was clearly trying absorb his brother's decision.

"Why?" he repeated. Hanzo sighed.

"I have greater things to worry about. You don't have to understand it. Just don't pressure me about it." He took a bite of his food.

"Fine. If you want to be celibate that's fine. I'll just be sitting here… mourning your sad way of life." He slurped up a noodle while his gray eyes bore into Hanzo. The elder rolled his eyes.

"That's not what I'm saying…"

Hanzo wasn't a virgin. He'd previously been with men and women, alike. However, he wasn't actively searching for affairs like his younger brother. Sex was a physical release, but he'd never found emotion in anyone he'd slept with. Even his brother – while passing from woman to woman – formed bonds with those he bedded. Some of his best friends had started out as one night stands. Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with him. He didn't exactly understand why no one meant anything to him. He told himself that it didn't matter, and that it was better that way.

It was hard convincing himself that he didn't care.

"That reminds me," Genji said, pulling Hanzo from his self-reflection. "I've been dating this new girl that…" Hanzo zoned him out. He heard enough about his brother's conquests. They were all the same and all temporary. This one may be the one he gushed about now, but he'd move on to another one in a week or so. He nodded, acting as if he was listening to what Genji was saying. However, he was just focusing on the ambiance of the noodle shop and the taste of his ramen.

Off into the distance he heard a voice. It was low, twanging in English.

Hanzo's ears perked to attention. He raised his head, listening to the familiar voice. He spun in his seat looking at the wall as he eavesdropped.

"What is it?" Genji asked, noticing Hanzo's intensity.

"Nothing," Hanzo urged, waving at his brother. "Just eat your ramen. I'll be right back." He jumped up and moved through the doorway to the front of the shop. He glanced back to see his brother slowly turn to his lunch. He made his way to the counter where he knew the voice was originating from.

He wasn't surprised at what he found.

The cowboy was leaning over the counter, smiling a sincere smile at the employee who was grinning in reply. He looked at ridiculous as the first time Hanzo had met him. With that tall and wide brimmed dusty brown hat and the tall boots that clinked when he moved. At least he wasn't wearing plaid that day. Hanzo hated plaid. He was still wearing denim – it looked like the same jeans from their last meeting. Not shocking. He was wearing a different shirt, at least: a red t-shirt with "Howdy" written on it.

As Hanzo approached he couldn't even pretend like he wasn't unamused… by his apparel more so than his presence.

Hanzo placed his hand firm on the cowboy's shoulder and dug his fingers sharp into his muscle. It was meant to be a threatening gesture, but he seemed to shift further into the touch rather than away from. It confused Hanzo.

"Is he bothering you?" he asked the server in Japanese. She smiled.

"No, Hanzo," she said. "He has a cute accent, but I don't know what he's saying. He was just talking away, so I was listening politely."

"I'll handle him, Yeri. Go back to work." She nodded, her dark eyes darting between the two men. She bowed at the cowboy, smiling once more before turning away.

"Hey, Han!" he said. He was grinning up at him from his leaning position. His eyes crinkled form the force of the smile – making them squinty with joy. It was cute, but Hanzo would not admit it even to himself. In his position he was taking up two seats and distracting an employee. People were staring at him. He was being both rude and making a fool of himself at the same time. It had to be some kind of new record. This American was clueless.

"Don't call me that," Hanzo said. He tightened his grasp on his shoulder. "What are you doing here, McCree?" he asked.

"Hungry," he twanged, standing and rubbing his stomach for emphasis. As he shifted McCree went from looking up at Hanzo to looking down at him. He bent his head slightly so that their eyes were meeting. His smile remained. Hanzo shifted back – hyper-aware at his sudden closeness. He hadn't realized how large the other man was.

"Do you have money this time?" he asked cynically.

"Yup!" He slapped his hand down onto the counter, leaving a few hundred yen behind. It was enough to afford a basic bowl. When Hanzo's gaze returned to the cowboy's face he was grinning as if he was proud of himself. He seemed to be waiting for some sort of congratulations. Hanzo would not reward him for finally acting how a normal human should.

"This is not the only place to eat in Hanamura." McCree shrugged, plopping on a nearby stool.

"Nah, but I like this place."

"After last time I figured you'd be too ashamed to show your face here again." Yeri sat a bowl of noodles in front of McCree. He thanked her, pushing the money towards her. He grabbed the bowl and slurped. When he sat it back in front of him a noodle was left behind – stuck to his face. "Ah," Hanzo murmured – his eyes narrowing. "I see you have no shame." McCree just smiled at that.

"None!" he agreed which warranted an eyebrow raise from Hanzo. He found himself sitting down beside McCree, folding his hands in his lap. He hadn't intended on lingering.

"How did you manage to order?" he asked.

"I just repeated ramen and pointed at the bowl until she got the idea."

"Of course." He sighed, shaking his head. McCree laughed lightly before slurping once more. It was actually louder and more obnoxious than Genji's way of eating. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

"Yeri said you were talking to her. What were you saying?"

"Yeri's her name?" He shrugged, his eyes watching Hanzo from the side. "I was asking her about you." Hanzo blinked. He narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" he demanded in a cautious yet venomous tone.

"Well cause you was nice to me. I liked you and was hoping to see you again." Hanzo blinked, taken aback by the answer.

"Really?" he asked skeptically. For some reason his cheeks were burning. He prayed that the cowboy wasn't able to see it.

"Yeah!" The grin on his face was beaming. Hanzo had never seen anyone smile as much as McCree did. Well, except for Genji. Sigh. He was surrounded by cheerful idiots. "I like ya, Hanzo."

"You barely know me." He shrugged.

"Well, then let me get to."

Get to know him. That was a difficult request. Even if Hanzo was willing… his life was not one where friends belonged. He was loyal only to his family – to the yakuza. It was a life he had to keep secretive. Outside of that there was never a way anyone would truly be able to know the real him.

Hanzo felt a pit in his stomach. He didn't respond to McCree's request. Instead, he hung his head, his eyes glued to the table.

McCree didn't let the silence loom for long. Hanzo believed it was hard wired in his genetic makeup that he couldn't stay quiet for more than a couple minutes.

"You look mighty fine in that suit," he twanged, drawing Hanzo's shocked gaze. Their eyes met. Hanzo's face burned once more – this time hotter. It felt like lava was trapped underneath his skin. There was no way the blush wasn't visible. He fidgeted, uncomfortable with the idea of McCree making him redden, and more so with the idea of McCree _seeing_ him redden.

"Thank you," he murmured, trying to contain himself.

"Goin' somewhere nice?" He slurped from his bowl while staring at Hanzo with interest.

"A movie." McCree blinked.

"Do people tend to go to movies in suits?" Hanzo shrugged.

"I do. Others do not."

"Well, aren't you a fancy man?" He grinned. Hanzo was unsure of how to respond. He stood up, realizing he should probably be ending the interaction lest he be late for his movie.

"I should be getting back to my brother. It was nice seeing you again, McCree." It wasn't a lie, but he wasn't sure how _nice_ it really was. He turned away. "Goodbye."

"Oh – uh… Bye, Hanzo!" he called after him.

There were so many questions he had for the cowboy. He was a strange and sudden enigma that Hanzo was admittedly interested in. He would never pry, nor did he want to actually get to know McCree. It was easier that way. Still, he found himself being latently attracted to him in one way or another.

His cheeks were still flaring when he rounded the corner.

Genji was gone. His seat was empty, an barren bowl the only thing that was left behind. A note scribbled in green ink was stuck under it. Picking it up it read, "Hanzo, that cute girl that was looking at you and I started talking while you were doing whatever. She's nice. We're going to the arcade. Go on to the movie without me. Oh, and don't wait up. Your loss, brother. – Genji." Hanzo sighed. Genji had no self-control around women. That girl would become another notch in his belt.

Hanzo waded up the note and discarded it into the empty bowl. He spun around and marched back into the front of the ramen shop. He plopped onto the stool beside McCree. The cowboy was staring at him from the edge of his bowl. He sat it down and smiled.

"Back so soon? That was a short movie." he teased.

"My brother left with some girl," Hanzo huffed.

"Bummer…" He just nodded, looking down at the table. "He do this often?"

"More than I would like."

"How old's he?"

"Sixteen."

"Ah, makes sense." Hanzo raised his dark eyebrow. He looked at McCree in curiosity.

"How so?"

"Ya know… he's just a kid – living the life an all. I was the same." Hanzo grimaced.

"He's not a child. He's grown and he should know better."

"Sixteen ain't grown. Hell, I'm eighteen and hardly grown." He grinned sheepishly.

"You westerners are strange. I do not know how things are in America, but here a sixteen year old has duties – my brother more than most. He lives for the pleasure."

"C'mon. Sounds like he's enjoying his childhood."

"You are foolish." McCree leaned back casually and laughed.

"Sounds like you're jealous of him."

"I am _not_ jealous of my brother!" Hanzo squared his shoulders.

Maybe he was though…

"Alright… alright… dropping it." McCree shifted.

For a few minutes Hanzo was silent. For once, McCree didn't start saying something random either. This time it was Hanzo who broke the quiet.

"So… as I mentioned I was going to a movie… and since my brother left without me… I now have an extra ticket." McCree's posture perked to attention. His shoulders lifted and his brown eyes widened. A smile tugged at his lips in anticipation of what was obviously coming. Hanzo sighed – McCree's eagerness annoying him slightly. He slumped his shoulder. "Would you like to come to the movie with me?" He almost leaped up in excitement.

"Of course!" He said grinning. McCree barely knew him and Hanzo could see that he already like him too much than was comfortable. Going on an outing together… it was a risk. Still, it was better than going to a movie alone. How embarrassing that would be.

* * *

Jesse McCree

Japanese movie theaters were really different from American ones. McCree had never experienced anything quite like it before. It was uncharacteristically clean: no sticky floors, overflowing trash cans, or discarded popcorn. The concession didn't even actually have popcorn. In its place there were foods that McCree wouldn't thing belonged in a cinema. There were some weird pastry things. McCree got one and it was super sweet. Everyone that worked there was very friendly, greeting the two men with big smiles and what he assumed to be courtesies in Japanese. Most American employees would half-heartedly rip your ticket and toss it at you spitting, "have a nice day" in the least enthusiastic way possible. It was a nice difference.

The ticket Hanzo had had ended up being for an American Hollywood movie. McCree hadn't even heard of it before – having spent the last year in Switzerland. It was nice to see something from his home country, however, having been in foreign places for so long. Luckily, it wasn't dubbed in Japanese. There were subtitles for the native audience, but McCree and Hanzo didn't need it. That made him feel a little special.

The movie was futuristic about a space explorer running and gunning with aliens – saving the universe and such. It was one of those sci-fi action movies with a romantic side plot between the main hero and an alien. It wasn't really McCree's thing. He was more into old western movies, but he ended up enjoying it, to his surprise. He wondered if Hanzo was into these kinds of movies. Somehow he doubted it. He definitely didn't seem the type. It was probably his brother who picked the flick.

During the movie McCree noticed another cultural difference. The Japanese audience was stone faced the whole time. They didn't make noise the whole movie. McCree would guffaw anytime anything funny happened. He'd gasp, cheer, and mumble to the characters. Okay, maybe he was a little more vocal than the average movie goer, but the rest of the viewers didn't make a single sound the whole time. This of course caused Hanzo to glare at him with the most unamused and regretful look McCree thought he may have ever seen. To which McCree would smile sheepishly, and still continue to be expressive. He was having a grand time, and he felt like Hanzo was too.

At one point Hanzo muttered something in Japanese. McCree didn't know what he said, but his tone was exasperated. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists.

"What is it?" McCree asked, looking at him concerned. "Was I being too loud again?" Hanzo shook his head.

"No," he huffed. He pointed down a few rows. McCree's eyes followed his direction and landed on the back of a guy with green hair whose arm was around a girl. "My brother."

"He's here? Looks like he really wanted to see this movie." Hanzo snorted.

"Just with someone prettier than me," he said dryly. McCree laughed quietly. He craned his neck to try and see what the girl looked like, but he could only really see the edge of her eye, her cheek, and ear. He shrugged.

"I dunno. I think you're prettier."

Surprisingly, Hanzo made an 'hmph' noise that almost sounded like a laugh. He partially smiled; the corner of his lip turning up. McCree could see the slightest trace of blush burning under his skin and turning it a light pink. He smiled proudly to himself. That was the third time that day he'd made Hanzo blush. It only increased his desire to flatter him more if just to see the adorable red that spotted his cheeks each time.

"So you wanna go talk to him?" McCree asked. Hanzo shook his head.

"No!" he objected almost too loudly. It drew a few stares from the crowd, but not from his brother, luckily. "No," he repeated a little quieter this time. "It's not necessary. Nothing I will say will change his mind and at least this way I can keep an eye on him."

"You wanna spy?"

"I am _not_ spying. At least here I can protect him." When he said that Hanzo went rigid. It was clear he had let on more than he meant. If McCree wasn't already aware that he was part of the local yakuza he would have questioned it. However, another question came to mind. Was Hanzo's brother part of the mob too? He was just a kid, but as Hanzo said in Japan he was seen as a man. McCree looked at the smiling green haired boy. His face beamed. Suddenly, McCree felt a pang of pity for him. He looked back at Hanzo who seemed to be focusing on the movie – probably hoping that he hadn't heard the protection thing. He felt pity for him too. McCree understood better than anything what it meant to be swept up in something toxic and dangerous.

When the movie ended McCree and Hanzo lingered to watch his brother. The kid and his date ended up purchasing a ticket to another movie, and Hanzo said since he was occupied they could probably leave.

The two ended up strolling through the darkened city. McCree wasn't sure what time it was, but it was late. The city wasn't dead, but there weren't that many people wondering around either. It was quiet, peaceful, and really nice.

"I had fun," McCree said, glancing over at Hanzo. His raven hair glinted silver in the moonlight. It was beautiful. There was a small flicker of a smile on his thin lips.

"As did I," he said. The way he turned his head away, his eyes looking at the ground, with his hair falling down slightly made McCree want to touch him. He really really just wanted to take his hand. He wasn't sure why though. He wanted to know what his skin felt like against his. He almost did – he was about to reach out when Hanzo abruptly paused. He turned to McCree. "I should be going," he whispered.

"Oh," McCree murmured. "Right. Well… I don't wanna keep you out any longer than I should. That wouldn't be proper of me." Hanzo scowled.

"You're not keeping me," he grumbled. He took a step back. "It is late."

"Right…" As he stood there looking down at him he trembled. Things became awkward at that point. It was as if neither man wanted to part, but they didn't know what to further say either. "So, uh, Hanzo, before you go… I," Jesse cleared his throat, "I wanted to give you this." He handed the smaller man a piece of paper. "It's my phone number. I'd like to get to know you better. You're the only person I really know here and I had fun. Maybe we can… do it again sometime…" A final blush spread across the other man's face, covering his cheeks and nose in a light kiss of pink. He glanced down at the paper then back up at McCree. The phantom of a smile tugged at his lips, but his dark eyes were impossible to read. He stifled his emotions.

"Perhaps," he said indifferently. McCree smiled, still. He had seen a flash of his true reaction.

"I'll… be seen' you now. Adios amigo." Hanzo blinked at him in confusion.

"What?" Jesse grinned.

"Spanish," he said. "Means goodbye friend." Hanzo's blush deepened.

"Goodbye, Jesse McCree." The sound of his name rolling of that beautifully accented tongue made McCree shiver… almost too visibly. He was sure Hanzo caught that. However, he didn't say anything. He backed away slowly before turning and strolling from McCree. He couldn't help but watch Hanzo disappear into the distance – bathed in the light of the moon and glowing like an enchanting angel.

* * *

When McCree finally trudged into the apartment the house was dead. Williamson was passed out on his futon that he'd dragged into the living room from his room. He apparently didn't like sleeping with Hasashi that much. McCree just rolled his eyes, stepping over him and heading to his own room. He was tired and wanted some sleep. He started to open the door, but paused when he heard a familiar voice emanate from somewhere inside. Reyes's voice followed.

"I told you not to let Torbjörn drink," he said.

"He's a little man with a lot of anger. There was no controlling him," said the voice of Strike Commander Morrison. Oh, made sense.

Reyes was sitting crossed legged on the edge of his futon. He had one of those little table things pulled up in front of him with his computer sitting on top. He was wearing a tight grey t-shirt and burgundy shorts cut high on his thighs. His brown curly hair was messy and disheveled – curls sticking every which way. His brown eyes were puffy and tired, but wide like he was trying to stay focused on the screen.

"Ana is going to pick him off from a sniper spot one day when he's not expecting it, I swear, Jackie." Morrison laughed. "This is two birthday's in a row. If he gets shit faced and starts breaking shit with a hammer next year he's not going to see a forth."

"She wouldn't even speak with him today. Poor Reinhardt is trying to mediate, but neither of them are having it."

"Glad I'm not him…" both men chuckled low. "Kinda wish I could've been there though."

"Yeah… me too… Maybe Torb would have settled down if _you_ had threatened to punt him into next week."

"Still can't believe you told him that. Am I rubbing off on you, Morrison?" Reyes grinned teasingly and wide, his white teeth gleamed in the glow of the computer screen.

"I'd rather you be rubbing on me," the Strike Commander's voice had turned into a low rumble. Reyes shifted, a satisfied smirk growing on his face. McCree didn't need to hear that… "But I was a little… buzzed; he was being rowdy and wasn't listening to my Strike Commander act so I thought I might channel a little Commander Reyes."

"It works better when you say it without that sunshine smile of yours." Morrison just laughed. Reyes laughed for a second before flopping back on his bed. He stuck his arms under his head and breathed deep. He stretched causing his dark shirt to pull up slightly and expose the lower half of his bronze stomach. McCree could see his belly button and the dark hair that ran in a trail downwards. "Still wish I could have been there," he said. "I'm sick of missing everyone's birthdays."

"You'll be here for the next one, Gabe." Reyes huffed.

"Doubt it." There was a pause. "I miss you, Jack."

"You know I miss you too."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm going and going, dodging from one shadow to another and I never have a moment to slow down and… move into the sunlight. When we're together I feel like we can only ever talk about work because it's more important. We never get a moment to… to just be us anymore…" He turned to his side away from McCree. He couldn't see his face when he said, "I'm fucking sick of it."

"When you get back we'll take a vacation. No Overwatch… no Blackwatch… just us…" Reyes looked over his shoulder back at the computer.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… we'll go someplace nice, away from it all." Reyes snorted.

"Hm…maybe we should come back to Japan as tourists. It's really nice here." He sat up back to his cross-legged position. "There's these pink flowered trees. They're all bright and pretty and all that lame shit. Anyway, they remind me of you."

"Aww you really know how to win a man's heart," Jack said sarcastically.

"Hey, I already have your heart!" There was a pause.

"That you do, Gabriel." He said it low with adoration. McCree couldn't see the Strike Commander, but if he could he would probably being looking at Reyes like he hung the sun.

McCree wanted to gag at the old men. He decided now was a good time to come in before Reyes started getting naked and he'd have to share the living room futon with Williamson. He shoved open the door with his boot and strolled in. He looked at Reyes with faked confusion to cover up the fact that he'd been eavesdropping at the door.

"Oh, the kid's back," Reyes told Morrison.

"Who you talking to?" McCree asked as if he didn't know. He flopped on his futon next to Reyes and leaned over to look at the screen.

The Strike Commander's face was framed in the center and he was sitting with his back straight. It was as if he had stiffened to formality when Reyes had announced McCree's presence despite that he'd just been telling Reyes he wanted him to 'rub on him.' McCree could tell that he was in his office despite only having been up there once or twice. He could see the Swiss vista behind him through the large pane windows that framed the most important room at the HQ. He found it amusing that they had been talking dirty in the middle of Morrison's office. Too bad Angela or someone hadn't walked in and caught them. It would have been a lot funnier from that perspective. The foil between casual messy hair Reyes and straight spine uniform Morrison was obvious. They were like night and day. Hell, they even kind of looked like night and day.

"Hello, Agent McCree," Strike Commander Morrison said.

"Howdy, Strike Commander," he said, leaning slightly into Reyes as he looked at the screen. He propped his elbow on Reyes's knee casually. "Talkin' about work?" he asked with a knowing grin. He thought he saw Morrison's cheeks flush. Reyes growled. He shoved McCree off him.

"Fuck off, McCree. Were you listening to our conversation?" He shrugged.

"Dunno what gave you that idea, boss." Reyes narrowed his dark eyes.

"Commander Reyes," Morrison said from the computer. Reyes turned his scowl to Morrison.

"Oh don't go getting all fucking formal on me, Jackie, we're fucking married. Everyone knows it whether you think so or not. You're not fooling the kid. He's not stupid."

Reyes was the only person he'd ever heard yell at the Strike Commander. If anyone else dared they'd get punished if not by Morrison himself then by Reyes. One time McCree had witnessed Reyes beat the ass of some Blackwatch recruit who had made some disparaging comment about the Strike Commander. It was quite the sight to see.

Morrison sighed. "Sorry, Gabe," he said. Reyes smiled smugly.

"That's fucking right you better call me Gabe." McCree saw Morrison smile. "Alright, sunshine, McCree's going to brief me so I'll call you in the morning."

"Alright, Gabriel. I love you." Reyes smiled at his husband.

"I know," he said blissfully. Morrison smiled. McCree found that a strange way to respond to your spouse expressing his affection, but Morrison seemed used to it. It must've been traditional. Reyes hit a button on his computer and disconnected the call. He turned to McCree. "How'd it go?"

"It was good!" McCree announced. "We saw this movie about space exploration and fighting aliens it was called…"

"Not what I mean, dumbass," Reyes growled. "What'd you find out about the yakuza?"

"OH," McCree hummed. He leaned back, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. "Nothing much. I'm pretty sure Hanzo's little brother is a member too though, and he may've been expectin' danger because he was alert." He went to light the cigarette, but Reyes plucked it from his mouth.

"Don't smoke in here," he growled.

"You do."

"I do outside." He shook his head. "Now you're distracting me. That's it?"

"Yep, but I think he's likin' me. Maybe if he gets more comfortable he'll open up about it." McCree shrugged. "I feel bad for em. He's like my age and he's stuck in this thing that's putting him in danger…"

"Like you?" Reyes asked. McCree blinked at him.

"Yeah, I guess." He looked off. "Still better than the gang though…" Reyes sighed.

"I know it's tough, kid. You can do good here…" He clapped McCree on the shoulder. "I'm here for you."

* * *

 _A/N: Ah, I loved this chapter so much. Poor Hanzo is surrounded by cheerful idiots in goofy shirts. Also important note for those following the story since the beginning: I am going to be changing something in chapter 1. It is a small change, but with a huge effect to the story. It is a change regarding the whereabouts to Reyes's body. In the chapter I originally stated that it had never been found. However, do to my new head canon I want his body to actually be found and buried. I will not say more for risk of spoilers._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: All reviews are appreciated!_

Ch. 8

Present Day

Hanzo Shimada

Hanzo was eager to finally be doing _something._ After weeks of sitting at the Overwatch base doing nothing it was a relief to have some activity. He was also glad that the rest of the group was beginning to trust him enough to send him on a mission. Though he realized it was simply because the core group was short staffed and there was too much Talon activity in London to send McCree alone. He wasn't thrilled about being left alone with the cowboy, however. Their relationship was still too complicated for that to be simple. He wouldn't allow that to get in his way, though. This was his chance to prove himself to the rest of Overwatch and to his brother.

He and McCree had to get to England by civilian means. It had been made aware that any Overwatch drop ships would be pegged by Talon the moment they entered the area, and they were on a reconnaissance mission. Winston had been worrying that some agent named Reaper was active in the area. Hanzo didn't really know much about the person, but McCree had explained on the plane ride that he was something… unnatural. Though, he hadn't faced him before himself. The agent hadn't been spotted by Overwatch in over a month since they fought off an attack in the Middle East, but Winston had put it as a sighting being "overdue."

"There's no conclusive evidence of this being his handy work. Talon has been present in the area since the death of Mondatta, but it's crucial that you use the upmost caution. Look for signs of his presence. He's hunting Overwatch, so he won't hesitate to disengage from his objective to take on an operative."

McCree didn't seem too worried about the possibility. Though, he admitted he had never fought or seen Reaper for himself. Hanzo wasn't worried either. He was confident enough in his own capabilities.

It was dark when they arrived at the small dingy apartment McCree had said was the "safe house."

"This is it?" Hanzo asked, taking in the studio flat.

There was a messy double bed in the center of the far wall, an old brown couch with a small framed TV, and a tiny kitchen set up with a fridge that groaned like it was on its last legs of functionality. The wall paper was faded and peeling at some points, and the hard wood had been scratched with what looked like a rake.

Hanzo wrinkled his nose in distaste and crossed his arms.

"Unacceptable," he muttered.

He'd been a drifter for years and had never stayed in a place in such worn and grotesque condition.

"What?" McCree asked. "Not all of us can be a yakuza prince." He grinned toothily at his own joke, but Hanzo just grimaced.

"I am no prince."

"Ah, c'mon, Hanzo, I've been to that big ol' palace ya lived in."

"I live there no more. We now share a home. We are equals." To his surprise, McCree didn't respond to that. "What to do about the sleeping situation?" he asked his silent companion. "There is only one bed." He glanced over his shoulder at McCree who was looking at the grimy bed with a mile long stare. He knew what he was thinking. "No," he said before the cowboy could even voice his thoughts. McCree's brown eyes darted to Hanzo's knitted glare. He raised his eyebrows and hands in defense.

"Hey, I wasn't gonna suggest…" he argued. "We ain't gotta debate. I'll take the couch, you can have the bed."

Hanzo blinked at him as the cowboy sat his bag down beside the sofa. He plopped down beside it and propped his boots up on the old wooden coffee table. He leaned back some, crossing his arms behind his head, and allowing the edge of the couch to push his hat in an angle so that the brim was covering his eyes. His shoulders relaxed and he let out a deep sigh.

"Oh yeah, this is nice," he drawled.

Hanzo had to swallow a lump in his throat, unsure as to why it had formed.

"My thanks," he murmured while he sat his bag on the edge of the bed.

"Hm?" McCree hummed half zoned out.

"This is a new safe house correct?" Hanzo asked, hoping McCree hadn't fallen asleep _that_ quickly.

"Yeah… we had several here back… in the day." He snorted, his eyes not visible under his hat. "They were shitty too, honestly…"

"Have you ever stayed in one?"

"Nah, not here. I _was_ here… few years back… towards the end." He huffed, a deep exhale of exhaustion. "'Fore everythin' went to hell." He seemed to shift uncomfortably under the memory. "Place is a hellhole, honestly. Wouldn't a-been my choice in vacation spot, but Reyes insisted and who am I to decline?" He sounded almost nostalgic to Hanzo. He breathed deeply. Hanzo didn't want to press him on the topic further, so he said nothing more. He allowed McCree to fall silent as he looked about the room.

"These sheets are filthy. Do you think there's any more around here?"

"Mm-mm."

"Some help you are," Hanzo mumbled under his breath.

Unable to find any replacement covers Hanzo reluctantly resigned himself to getting some rest on the possibly bug infested bed. McCree had already passed out in what seemed to Hanzo to be an uncomfortable position on the sofa. They were both exhausted from having been going for what was near twenty-four hours.

He peeked at McCree cautiously. There were deep and steady snores emanating from under the hat. Hanzo remembered them so well. When he closed his eyes he almost felt Jesse's chest rising and falling under his head. Hanzo had to shake himself. The cowboy was asleep, and he could strip. He wasn't sure how McCree was comfortable sleeping fully dressed, but he surely wouldn't be. Hanzo kept his eyes glued on him as he removed his clothes slowly as to not make too much noise. He kicked his pants away and pulled the band from his bun. He shook it loose so that it fell against his shoulders. He ran his fingers through his hair, running the strands in-between each and pulling apart tangles. He sat on the bed with his back to McCree. He tried not to focus on the sound of his snores as he cuddled under the surprisingly comfortable covers. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Hanzo awoke first around noon. His arm was numb from his static position. His black hair was tangled and matted, stuck to his red face. He drug his still half naked body out of bed. His body felt groggy and weak. He fumbled for a hair brush out of his satchel pausing to assure McCree was still asleep. He could hear the steady snores still rumbling from his chest.

At some point the cowboy had migrated from his sitting position to lying flat on his stomach with one arm dangling over the side of the sofa. His face was smooshed against a pillow with a force that gave him little fish lips. He must have woken up at some point during the night because his boots and belt had been discarded next to the end table. His hat was sitting on the back of the couch.

Hanzo shivered at the idea of McCree's eyes on him while he was sleeping – vulnerable.

He turned his back to the cowboy, sitting on the bed and sluggishly brushing the tangles from his hair. He hated mornings. As a child he had to rise early for training, but on the off days he slept in as late as father or Genji would allow. On occasion Genji would be met with a snarled warning that allowed him a few extra minutes. As a drifter he had to be on the move early lest he lose daylight. At Overwatch he was finally able to sleep in unless there was an emergency, of course.

As Hanzo wrapped the band around his bun he heard a break in McCree's steady snores. He jumped up and spun around as the cowboy moaned, shifting slightly from where he was sleeping. He was glad that he'd put pants on before he brushed his hair. Brown eyes flickered around the room as if they were trying to take in their location before landing on the staring archer. A light smile spread across his face.

"Mornin' darlin'," he hummed. Hanzo wanted to bark at him to not call him that, but he just huffed instead.

"It's twelve thirty," he said.

"Yeah, mornin'," McCree replied. He sat up straight and rubbed the back of his messy brown hair. He plucked his hat from the edge of the couch and placed it on his head.

"Are you not going to at least brush your hair?" Hanzo asked.

"Nah. It'll just get messed up later anyway."

"Take some pride in your appearance." McCree shrugged while pulling on his boots.

"But being scruffily handsome is my whole thing." Hanzo grunted. "Hey, I'm scruffy and handsome. You're neat and pretty…."

"I'm not pretty." McCree snorted.

"If you say so, pardner."

The cowboy's eyes were glued to the archer. Hanzo could feel them looking his body up and down. His brown irises burned almost. It made him a bit self-conscious. Not conscious that he was seeing him shirtless, but nervous at how much he had changed in the years. Last time McCree had seen him naked he had been young and innocent… to an extent. He had yet to commit the crime of fratricide. Under Jesse's piercing stare Hanzo felt as if he could practically feel Genji's blood covering him. Reflexively, he slapped his hand over his right abdomen. He was covering a scar that his brother had given in their fatal battle. It was the only reminder left on his body. His soul was the one to truly become disfigured.

"Stop staring at me," he snapped using the ire he normally held to cover his discomfort.

He grabbed his shirt from the night before and slipped it over his head. He still felt exposed, but not quite as helpless.

"I need some coffee," he twanged. Hanzo turned from him, sitting on the bed to put his boots on. "And a cigar." He could hear the cowboy stand and his loud boots clunk and jingle as he went out onto the balcony. Hanzo hopped up and hesitantly followed him out.

McCree was leaning against the railing puffing on the cigar while white smoke drifted around in front of him. He was watching some people argue in front of the building across the street. Hanzo waved the smoke away as he stood next to him.

"We need to talk about tonight," he said.

"Ya know I think that guy cheated on that girl and she's mad about it." Yelling emphasized his point.

"How do you know?" Hanzo asked. He shrugged.

"I don't. Can't really hear what they're sayin'. Just got a feelin'." He took a drag of his cigar. Hanzo huffed. He wasn't sure why he was even entertaining this train of conversation.

"We need to talk about tonight," he repeated. "If we want things to go well we must have a plan." McCree turned to face him.

"I'm more of a heat of the moment kind of guy," he hummed staring down at Hanzo's face. Hanzo growled.

"I do not care. I am not going in there blind and letting you get me killed." McCree's expression turned solemn and serious for a moment.

"I ain't gonna let you get killed," he practically vowed.

"I do not need you to take care of me," he grumbled defiantly. McCree shook his head.

"Hanzo, right now all we got is us. We're partners here and we gotta watch each other's back. You can't go runin' off thinkin' you can do this on your own. You have to trust me."

"How can I trust you when you've never given me a reason to?!" Hanzo yelled.

Something about what McCree said had snapped something in him. It was almost like he'd been slapped in the face in some form. After what McCree had done… trust was a hard thing to ask for so soon. He wanted to let him prove himself. However, in that moment the idea seemed as absurd as a talking elephant. The arguing couple from across the street had probably paused to look up at the balcony with the screaming man.

"Hanzo…" Hanzo shook his head, breathing in air and trying to restrain himself.

"No," he said. "Forget it." He sighed. "I just want you taking this seriously."

"I'm as serious as a heart attack," McCree guaranteed, smiling lightheartedly once again. Hanzo rolled his eyes.

"So this is what I was planning…"

* * *

It was quiet – overly so. The nearest sound was that of car horns in the muffled far distance. Hanzo was unsure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. They were in the undercity of Kings Row: the area that the omnics had been forced into years ago. Hanzo had never been to England or Kings Row for that matter. He was unsure what it was, but the area made him uncomfortable. Perhaps, it was the contrasting lack of sound taken from an area he had heard nothing but screaming in since his arrival. The shift put him on edge. The mission was risky and the stillness told him something had already gone wrong.

"You're all clear, Han," the steady twang of McCree's voice reverberated in his ear, coming from his earpiece. He rolled his eyes at the name, but didn't argue. It was not the time. "I'll sweep the perimeter. You go on in. Just… yell if ya get caught or somethin'."

"I am not planning on getting caught," Hanzo responded through his mic to the distant cowboy. There was a light chuckle.

"No one ever does." At that the radio fell silent allowing the uncomfortable quiet to overtake him once more. Surprisingly, in that moment he missed the cowboy's relentless talking. Though, idle chatter was compromising. He could only hope that the warehouse was still abandoned by workers.

Hanzo hoisted himself up, notching his metallic boots into the wall as he propelled himself a few feet up to the metal grate. He held onto the ledge, loosening the bolts with a tool that had been left behind for them. He popped the vent from its place and dropped it as gently as he could to the ledge below, trying to minimize his noise. He hopped up, propelling himself forward into the vent.

"I'm in," he hummed into his comm.

"No sign of guards or employees. Still outta commission I think."

"Automated most likely."

"You still got that device they left us?"

"Ready… as soon as I reach a location fit for use."

"Alrighty… don't leave me hangin'." Hanzo didn't reply. Instead, he focused on making his way through the small, claustrophobic, and hot vent. It wasn't the easiest task.

Once he finally reached his destination he kicked the other vent grate out and onto the second story scaffolding below. He leapt out, landing deftly. He crouched, looking around the overlooking ground floor.

"I do not see anyone," he radioed to McCree.

"We're still clear out here too."

"There are cameras. None pointed at my position."

"You ganna use that EMP thing?" Hanzo huffed.

"No," he said sarcastically, "I thought I'd walk out and let myself get caught on camera."

"Well I don't see the point, but go ahead," he replied casually.

"Hmph."

He pulled the arrow that Winston had given him from his quiver and aimed it at the electrical box across the platform. He drew back the string and shot the small implanted arrow into the box. There was pop, a bright flash, and the lights went out. A hum followed, and small dim emergency lights glowed to life.

"I'm at the door," McCree's voice twanged against his eardrum.

Hanzo jumped the railing and sprinted to the back door. He pressed a button next to the metal sliding door. He hoped the emergency power kept the doors live. It slid open, revealing McCree's smiling face.

"Good job, Hanzo. Don't think there's any guards around. Though, there might be some kind of alert with the power failure."

"In that case, we should be swift." McCree closed the door behind him. He winked.

"Always am."

The two split up, casing the location for any clues as to what Talon had gained by seizing the location. Random violence was always a good guess, but there had actually been no casualties – a few injuries, but no death. Reports were shaky, but it had been a rush job. Run in, gun, and run out with… something. If Overwatch didn't know what exactly Talon was up to then there was no way to counter them. There was no hypothesis of their motives… They were terrorists, but there was certainly an end goal.

Hanzo found some evidence of the violence that had occurred. Bullets etched in the metallic walls like scars. He ran his fingers over the broken metal, feeling the sharp roughness against the pads. It made him shiver. Those bullets were most likely meant for a person, and they had been fortunate enough for it to miss. The holes were a clustered alignment of pellets. Someone had really been lucky to avoid the buckshot.

"Hanzo!" McCree yelled from another room. He didn't hesitate. The sheer urgency in the cowboy's voice commanded his sprint through the hollow warehouse. The sound of his metal shoes clinking against the metal floor echoed through the quiet. He burst through the door. His skin prickled with a rise of anxiety.

"Jesse?!" he gasped almost desperately. McCree was standing over a computer console. His head tilted down at the bright screen that glowed in the darkness of the small room. When he said nothing Hanzo insisted, "What is it?" His body relaxed, breathing returning to normal as he realized there was no actual danger and that McCree wasn't in it.

"Look," he mumbled - his words distant.

"What?!" Hanzo demanded, frustrated at the cowboy for causing him a temporary and unwelcome panic. McCree motioned to the glowing screen.

"No casualties they said."

"Yes? So?" He finally looked at the screen, allowing the words to solidify McCree's stunned composure.

"Omnics… all the deaths… were omnic," he said anyway. "They weren't reported cause the English government don't care. That's… awful…" Hanzo looked at him.

"You care?" he asked.

"'Course I care. Omnics did all the shit the humans didn't care to and in return they get not a thing. They get murdered and no one gives a shit." He shook his head. "Question is why? What was Talon after?"

"It doesn't say?"

"Naw. Dumbasses didn't lock their computer… I guess to give access to the cops. This is some kind of… employee roster? It looks like it was uploaded from a different location. I'm no computer expert." Hanzo motioned to a line at the bottom of the roster.

"It mentions stolen goods."

"Yeah… They were after somethin' then? Not just random violence…"

"So it seems." Hanzo crossed his arms reserving himself to the idea that this infiltration had been pointless. "Can we find out what?"

"I dunno… I don't wanna mess with this thing too much…" McCree pressed a button causing the screen to scroll to another message. He scratched his beard, his dark eyes glancing over the page. He made a grunting noise, moving onto the next one. He flicked from one page to the next making noises of disapproval. "Woah there! Wait, wait." Hanzo snapped to attention. McCree looked at the page skeptically. "This is a list of everythin' stolen… Jackpot." Hanzo chuckled lightly.

"Can you make sense of it?" he asked, reading nothing but words he couldn't quite match to items.

"Yeah." He paused. "Well… not really. They're… components or somethin'? I don't quite understand it… all seems… random… Hm… I wish Winston could take a look at this. Damn. Can't contact him er Talon might catch our signal."

"Talon's monitors should not pick up activity from a console already established in the area, would they?" Hanzo suggested. McCree tapped his chin.

"No… no I don't think so. I could send him a copy."

"Hurry. I will keep watch."

Hanzo retreated from the administrator's office, returning to the main floor of the warehouse. The quiet was still deafening. They needed to hurry. He had a bad feeling and was on edge. Silence normally did not bother Hanzo, but this kind was different. It was malicious… unnatural in a way. He'd never been to that place before, but he felt in his soul that it was meant to be loud and lively. It felt as if he was in an industrial graveyard. On the upside it was unlikely anyone would be able to sneak up on him.

While Hanzo waited for his partner to finish up he scaled back to the second floor scaffolding, retrieving his arrow from the electrical box. He moved around the perimeter checking one last time for any unwanted inhabitants. Ever careful. The only noise that filled the air was his metal boots against the metal grates. In the distance he could hear McCree mumbling to himself – a comforting twang that broke the sense of his isolation. He focused on it allowing it to keep him company. It was familiar and comforting… He could almost remember it singing him to sleep. He hated it, but loved it at the same time. He could still remember the words.

 _Twap._

The very slight light sound of paper plopping against metal caused Hanzo to freeze. His muscles locked in a tight statuesque position while his eyes slid back and forth as he took in the scenery. Nothing in his immediate view had changed. His ears perked but he heard nothing more. McCree was still muttering in the distance. It wasn't him. It was too close… near the door. He didn't breathe… just listened like a hawk waiting for its prey to make a mistake. He wondered if the said prey was feeling the same way. He would not make the mistake of revealing himself.

Minutes went by. Hanzo's eyes had fallen on the door the administrator's office. McCree was still inside and he would not allow his partner to be snuck up on. The oblivious cowboy was being much more obvious than the silent archer. He would be the target if the predator decided to strike. Yet there was only silence.

Until suddenly the very slightest swish and then what seemed to be a prickle of electricity.

Hanzo reacted, pulling his bow from off his torso and launching himself over the railing. He sprung up from a crouched position, brandishing a drawn arrow towards in the direction of the noise as he darted towards it. He rounded a pallet coming face to face with only the front door. No one was there. However, lying on the cold metal floor was a manila envelope with a big red "Classified" stamp on it. That had not been there when he'd let McCree inside, obviously. Whoever the intruder had been had left it behind meaning for the two to find it.

Still wary that an intruder had slipped past him, Hanzo doubled back to the office. He shut the door behind him thinking it was a fortified position to defend from if an intruder decided to attack. He clutched the folder in his hands while approaching an agitated and grumbling McCree. He paused in his inane clicking to glance at the archer. McCree had mentioned before that he didn't want to mess with it too much, but the idea had seemed to escape him the more determined he became at figuring it out.

"Back so soon?" he hummed. His eyes flicked to the envelope. "What's that?"

"I do not know. Though, it was left for us to find." McCree squinted, his brow crinkling in confusion.

"Huh?"

"We were… or _are_ not alone. Someone, unseen to me, left this. We were meant to find it." McCree restrained himself from his goal and moved away from the computer.

"What's in it?"

"I do not know… I have not opened it." McCree glanced down. He focused on it.

"Someone just waltzed in and plopped down a 'classified' file and you didn't notice em? Weren't you keepin' watch?" Hanzo glared at him, anger bubbling at the accusation.

"I was! Whoever it was infiltrated and evacuated before I had a chance to spot them!" The cowboy seemed to perk at the idea. The gears turning in his head were visible. "I heard them, but they were gone by the time I reached the location. They could still be here. I believe it wise that we hurry." McCree didn't answer. Instead, he snatched the file from Hanzo's hand. "Hey!" he growled. McCree flipped it open and squinted at the inky black words printed on a page. Hanzo grumbled in Japanese, leaning close to the cowboy so that he could read what was left for them as well.

The top of the page read:

To: J. Morrison

From: G. Reyes

Subject: Hanamura: Failed Reconnaissance

Status: Not Sent

McCree hardened next to him. His breathing quickened and his fingers grasped the paper a little too hard causing the folder to crinkle. He turned his head away, taking a breath to try and steady himself.

"What is it?" Hanzo asked. He hung his head.

"This… this is… Fuck." He shoved the folder back into Hanzo's hands and paced across the room. He removed his hat from his head and ran gloved fingers through his hair. Hanzo looked at the file and read the top lines over again.

The first paragraph read: This report describes the events that led to the failure of the mission Hanamura: Reconnaissance. Actions taken by my team revealed our true intentions to one prominent member of the Shimada clan and therefor most likely the whole yakuza itself. We were forced to leave Japan due to the danger that came with our intentions known. We may have revealed all of Overwatch.

"McCree," Hanzo snapped. "This is talking about..."

"Yeah…"

"About you… and I?"

"Yeah…"

Hanzo thumbed through the pages, looking over the words quickly. He kept seeing his name and McCree's and the word romance.

Youthful foolishness. That's all it was. He had failed… betrayed his family and his duties and for what? Someone who lied to him. Someone who hurt him.

Hanzo shook himself – trying to remove the feelings that simmered within him. He did not want to dwell on something he had decided meant nothing. Yet… if it meant nothing then why did he think on it at all? It was clear that McCree had never stopped caring. He was always finding the need to convince himself that he did.

Flipping to the final page of the lengthy report revealed a hand added note in purple ink. It was in a language he didn't recognize immediately and didn't understand. There was a small skull doodled in the right hand corner.

"McCree," he mumbled catching the cowboy's attention. "There's something else."

At the idea of information McCree pulled himself out of his melancholy and moved back over to Hanzo. He took the folder and looked the notes over.

"It's Spanish," he twanged.

"You can read it?" Hanzo asked, recalling hearing McCree use Spanish words casually before.

"Yeah…" His eyes darted across the page as he took it all in. He seemed to tense even more by what he read.

"What does it say?" McCree sighed.

"'My friend, I see you've found your old… boyfriend." He huffed. "I always liked happy endings to tragic love stories. Anyway, since you're in town I thought you'd like this… the file I was talking about. I see why you like him so much… he's cute. I also figured this was a good chance to repay my debt to you… I don't like owing people, you know. I know what you're looking for, and I can assist. Just meet me here…' uh there's an address 'Friday 11 pm sharp. See you, Sombra.' Oh, 'P.s. you triggered an alert messing with that computer. I shut it off. You're welcome.'" McCree sighed. "Well, shit…"

"Who is Sombra?"

"A… girl I knew." Hanzo hated the vagueness.

"That is not very descriptive. Who is she? How did she get in here and how did she get this file?" McCree fidgeted. He closed the folder and looked at the ground.

"I met her in Mexico… at a bar. We had some… fun. Then it turned out she was a Talon agent plannin' a cyber-attack. By the time I caught on it'd already started. I manage to fight 'er off, but… I couldn't pull the trigger… I let her go and now she thinks she owes me one - while simultaneously hauntin' me." He looked almost pained by the memory. "I know now nothing is coincidence with Sombra. She seeked me out in that bar, softened me up, and now I can't do my damn job. I don't know how she found that file, but it's the mission report Reyes wrote up after we left Hanamura. That's how she knew bout you." McCree looked off retrospectively. "Shit… I never told no one about me and Sombra before…" Hanzo sighed.

"And now things are becoming more difficult," he announced. He sympathized with him. He didn't like seeing McCree uncomfortable. If it was meant to be a secret then he wouldn't tell. "What is this she mentioned? 'I know what you are looking for.' What are we looking for?" McCree shrugged.

"I dunno. What was stolen here? Nah, that don't make sense. We don't want it - we just want to know what it was?"

"Then that is the answer. We want knowledge and she is willing to provide." McCree grinned.

"Hanzo, you're a genius! That's most certainly somethin' she could give us too. She might not be able to smuggle out a bunch of components, but she certainly knows what's goin' on. Better than most." He sighed, his joy melting away as he fell back into reserved thoughtfulness. "There's a problem though…"

"Other than the obvious?" Hanzo questioned. McCree nodded.

"Not often do you find Sombra without findin' Reaper… From what it seems she follows his lead… for the most part. I've seen exceptions… like in Mexico, but it's rare. N' after seein' what we've seen here… I doubt he's anywhere else."

"Then this could be a trap… and a deadly one." McCree nodded.

"Yep…" he sighed. "But there ain't anything else we can do. We got nothin'… This place is like hell… we can't just leave Talon to control it. We have to find some answers and we have to take care of the problem. I think we should go anyway… just gotta be careful."

"We will be going in blind." McCree looked at Hanzo – worry clear on his face.

"I ain't gonna let anything happen to you," he swore. Hanzo looked off, sighing.

"And I will not allow you to be harmed," he promised, sincerely. McCree grinned. "We will be careful."

"Takin' risks, Han, I like it!" He rolled his eyes, shoving past McCree and heading for the door.

"Do not push it."

* * *

 _A/N: Boy, oh, boy this chapter was a while in the making, but I have a simple explanation: Mass Effect: Andromeda. 'Nuff said. Though, I'm glad the game bought enough time for the Uprising comic and game mode came out because it certainly influenced this chapter. Another thing the comic did is inspire me to... start another past plot line revolving around Genji, Mercy, and McCree during the time Genji was first brought into Overwatch and him trying to adapt to the organization, coping with what he is and what happened, as well as evolving his relationships with characters (mostly that one). I kinda want to do an angry Blackwatch Genji. Sorry, if this is stuffing the story full with bullshit lol. It will be a smaller and less occurring plot, however. It's something I'm excited to do. Also in light on the new comic I will also be changing chapter one... AGAIN... and this time it may be quite a lot of changes. It'll pretty much be a whole rewrite to reflect Reyes's actual attitude at that time. I've always seen him as chill, but I never believed he and Morrison were so good towards the end. So there will need to be a few changes not to Reyes, but to how Morrison reacts to him. Be on the look out for that if you're a long time reader. Oh boy. Ganna be fun. Thanks blizzard for turning my world upside down._


	9. Chapter 9

Ch. 9

Present Day

Angela Ziegler

When Angela, Genji, and Fareeha managed to finally return to Gibraltar things were pretty chaotic. Chaotic in the sense that Angela's first words were, "I knew things would fall apart without me." She was surprised things literally _weren't_ falling apart. "At least the rafters are hanging together."

Athena was offline, and by the dimmed lights it was clear the base was running on emergency power. The shuttle had to land outside of the hanger bay because they were unable to get the doors open. Angela would've been panicked that Talon had invaded the base, but being met by Torbjörns grimacing face was enough to assure her all was well.

"Before you ask, no I didn't short the power trying to do an upgrade," he yelled as the trio stepped out.

"I wasn't going to suggest that," Angela said innocently.

"I was," Genji inserted. Torbjörn growled. He waved for the group to follow and spun around, marching off towards the hanger bay.

"What exactly has happened?" Fareeha asked with concern in her tone.

"Something bad," he called back to them.

"Is it… I'm going to need my wings bad or Tobjörn is overreacting bad?" Angela asked. Genji snickered.

"Neither. It is all our systems are currently down bad."

"That _is_ bad," Genji said. "Is there any word on McCree and my brother? Have they returned?"

"None that I know of! That would be a question for Winston. My problem is getting our base up and running. Reinhardt wanted to have a debriefing meeting as soon as you returned, and well… you've returned…"

"It seems we've missed a lot," Fareeha murmured.

"While you were off playing tourist we were here dealing with all the shit."

"It wasn't by choice."

"Don't pretend like you didn't enjoy it!" Angela glanced between Genji and Fareeha. She smiled lightly. She _did_ enjoy it.

"Did Talon attack us?" Genji asked. Torbjörn spun around. He jabbed his finger up at the ninja's helmet and squared off.

"Save yer questions for the meeting! What do I look like, a tour guide?" He shouted. Genji huffed, crossing his arms. He turned back, stomping off towards the meeting room.

They rounded a corner. Torbjörn dodged around a large metal figure that was standing up against the wall. He said something to it as he kept moving towards his location. Angela, who was leading the trio, skidded to a halt suddenly startled by the Bastion unit towering over her. She leapt away, slamming her back into Fareeha.

"A Bastion," she gasped while Pharah pushed Angela back behind her. Genji leapt forward, tossing a triad of shurikens at the large omnic. They thunked into its chest plate, imbedding metal into metal. The Bastion didn't retaliate, however. It just stood there, staring down at the offensive cyborg ninja. Instead, it raised its right hand and made a slight waving gesture while beeping twice.

"Now why did you have to go and do that?!" Tobjörn yelled, rushing back towards the group. He pushed past the Bastion and stood between it and Genji. He motioned up to the shurikens. "Now I'm goin' to have to fix _it_ too!"

"It's a Bastion unit," Genji defended. Torbjörn didn't listen.

"Yer lucky it didn't perceive you as a threat or you wouldn't be standin' er right now." He looked Genji up and down. "Hmph. Maybe it's cause you look like a bot." He glanced at the Bastion who was staring down at the ninja. "Careful. It may grow an attachment to you, and you probably won't want that." Genji glanced up at the omnic slowly.

Angela watched the Bastion in horror. She didn't mistrust omnics at all. However, Bastion units were very different from omnics like Zenyatta and the Shambali. It was omnics like the Bastions that had terrorized her as a young child and that left her an orphan.

She could still remember being pressed against her mother's chest as they crouched in the shell of a bullet blown house. She could see a turreted Bastion unit through a small bullet hole just in her line of sight. It was still – almost non-sentient looking – dead. She wondered if it had powered down or perhaps glitched? However, she was not naïve enough to believe that it was safe. She tried to mimic the omnic, staying as absolutely still as was possible. Her mother had told her that the slightest movement would attract them. Her cheeks were damp, but her tears were silent. They'd been bunkered in that house for weeks, and during that time she'd known nothing but utter fear. The omnic units marched through endlessly, tearing apart the city like a monsoon tearing apart the coast. She'd already lost her father… She had watched him get torn apart by the very same turret she could see through her little peep hole. Watching the dead omnic suddenly full of life and violence – she'd screamed. Her mother grabbed the young girl and forced her to the floor while the bullets ripped the little wooden home apart, filling her father full of small red pin holes. That was a day prior and she and her mother hadn't moved from the spot. The turrets barrel remained focused in on them, keeping them pinned in the very uncomfortable position. Angela rarely slept and there was no eating or drinking. They stayed like that for two days before a group of soldiers cleared out the Bastion and saved them.

It was easy for Mercy to be skeptical of the oddly docile Bastion that stood before them, waving, and beeping cheerfully at the group.

"Don't mind him!" Torbjörn yelled at them.

"I'm sorry, Torbjörn, but I am confused," Angela started. "The last Bastions were deactivated outside of Eichenwalde after the omnic crisis, a few were restarted during the Null Sector Uprising in King's Row, but I'm very unsure as to why there is one in our base."

"It's my… new friend… best way to put it."

"You have friends?" Genji joked, skeptically.

"Shut up ninja boy! I have plenty of friends!"

"Reinhardt is a large man, but he does not count as plenty." Fareeha snickered.

"I'm tired of you sassing me! One more remark and I'm telling my friend here that you kick puppies! It won't be so nice then!"

Angela was getting fed up with the lack of answers. A childhood nightmare of hers was staring her in the face and she wanted to know why.

"Enough bickering!" she yelled. The Bastion's attention seemed to snap to her, and she slunk back almost reflexively. Fareeha noticed her demeanor and put her hand on Angela's shoulder. "Where did the Bastion come from, Tobjörn?" she asked seriously. "Why is it passive?"

"It was behind those Bastion sightings back in Sweden. I went to check it out – decide if it was a real threat and to put it down if it was. I planned on disabling it and takin' it out. Don't need another loose omnic running about. Clearly, though, this Bastion's different. It didn't attack me or anyone else. It ran instead of fightin'. From what I've seen it likes nature and cute little animals." Almost on cue a small little yellow bird flew down and landed on the Bastion's shoulder. It beeped happily. "Oh yeah… that bird is its friend. Started calling the little thing Ganymede – couldn't shoo it away. Anyway, I was interested so I brought it back with me." He chuckled. "Should've seen everyone's faces when I got off a shuttle with a Bastion. Kind of like yours when you almost walked into it. This Bastion is different. Somehow its core programming was disabled, so now it's as friendly as that little bird. Well, so long as it don't think you're a threat. If I were you I'd start getting chummy with the thing. Wouldn't want it accidently gunning you down during a fight."

Angela swallowed hard. She didn't like the idea of that.

"Is it safe to have it here?" Fareeha asked.

"Perfectly! So long as you don't threaten it…" He patted the Bastion on the leg to which it responded with some beeping noises.

"Maybe warn us next time?" she suggested. Torbjörn laughed.

"It isn't as entertaining that way." He waved for them to follow him. "C'mon now the others are waitin' on us." He continued on. Cautiously, Mercy side-stepped the Bastion, who chirped and waved 'goodbye' as they moved on to the meeting room.

"You're back!" Tracer yelled, blinking in suddenly. Torbjörn grunted.

"I said I'd get them, rookie," he grumbled.

"Reinhardt said you were taking too long," she said with a big smile.

"He can only walk so fast, Lena," Genji said, "he has short legs." Torbjörn glared at him.

"What did I say about sassing me?!" Genji simply snickered from under his helmet, clearly unafraid of the engineer's threats.

Upon entering the dim meeting room they were greeted by large smiles and words of relief to see their return by their present teammates.

"I am glad to see you have safely returned, my student," Zenyatta told Genji as he placed his hand on the ninja's shoulder.

"I've missed you, master. France was… not exactly welcoming."

"Many places are not. I hope you made the best of it." Genji glanced over to Angela. She couldn't see his expression through his face plate.

"I did," he said.

"That is good to here. Come, come sit next to me." Zenyatta ushered Genji to a chair where he sat cross-legged.

"I am sure you would be happy to hear, Dr. Ziegler, that before my connection went down I was able to confirm that all your refugees were safely admitted to hospitals or returned to their homes," a synthetic voice announced from a speaker.

"Athena?" Angela questioned. "I thought you were offline."

"Winston was able to rewire minimal functionality to emergency power systems."

"She's with us, but doesn't have as much oversight of the base as I want," Winston added from across the table.

"I have been monitoring all base sensors for sign of attack."

"With everything down like this that's probably a good idea," Fareeha said, sitting down. Angela sat beside her. "A Talon attack seems very opportune."

"That's why we're glad to have you all back!" Reinhardt announced. He smiled wide at the two women.

"What exactly happened?" Angela questioned.

"At approximately 11:27 pm on Friday night I detected traces of a virus attached to a file being manually uploaded to us from a private server," Athena started. "I was unable to pinpoint where the file was uploaded from and the virus corrupted it too badly to actually open. I would have pieced it back together, but the virus took down everything before I had the chance."

"Torbjörn has been working on getting our power back, but the virus is still embedded in our terminals," Winston took over. "Until I can get Athena back to full functionality we will be unable to scrub the servers. That means no coms."

"What about McCree and my brother?" Genji asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

"They're on their own!" Torbjörn answered.

"What if they get into trouble? There's no way they can contact us – not with Talon keeping such a tight monitor on King's Row." Angela asked.

"There's nothing we can do," Winston said, looking down.

"They knew going in they would have to go dark!" Torbjörn added.

"But they still had the 'in case of emergency' option," Angela said. "With no communication…"

"If they get into any trouble they are going to try and contact us and receive no answer. They will not have any idea what's going on!" Genji said, standing up urgently.

"Be still, Genji," Zenyatta said gently, coaxing his student back into his seat.

"Sorry, master. I just worry about my brother… and McCree…" he added quietly. "I want to go to London."

"Genji…" Reinhardt said slowly.

Angela sympathized with Genji. She wanted to help the boys too, but she understood the needs of the many outweighing those of the few. As tough as it was to accept it was the only logical way to go about the situation. They had to keep the Overwatch base safe under any circumstances. If it was overrun then Hanzo and McCree would be targeted next. There was no indication that they were in any danger, and while at risk they were at least in a safe place.

"Genji," she said gently. She looked at him compassionately, feeling a pit in her stomach. "I think we need to stay here… until the base is secured and Athena is back online."

"Angela, you of all people should want to make sure they are safe." He sounded disappointed.

"I do, but… If Talon attacks Gibraltar we will need everyone possible to defend the base."

"We can spare one person."

"Not you, Genji." He huffed and murmured solemnly in Japanese. It sounded apologetic.

"How long until everything will be back online?" Angela asked, looking around the room. Winston and Torbjörn exchanged a glance.

"A few days," the gorilla said.

"That seems accep-"

"Intruders detected," Athena announced loudly.

"What?" Reinhardt questioned.

"Two intruders detected," a pause, "heading to the front gate."

"Talon?" Tracer questioned.

"Unknown. Sensors are currently limited. Two intruders are approaching the main gate."

"Could be Talon spies," Winston said. "They may not know that Athena is back up."

"Who else could it be?" Reinhardt asked.

"In that case we don't want to alert them," Fareeha contemplated. "Tracer… Genji… you two should go scout ahead. The rest of us will armor up in case it's a full scale attack."

"Aye, aye," Tracer saluted and blinked out the door. Genji leapt from his seat.

"Right away." He sprinted out the door after her.

* * *

Mercy felt uneasy as she marched behind Pharah clutching her caduceus staff close. The base was far too quiet and too dark for her comfort. Though she would be busy soon enough darting between comrades and offering healing aid she couldn't find comfort in her moment of peace before potential battle. Something deep inside her felt like everything was about to shift. Nothing would be the same. She couldn't figure if it would be for the better or worse.

She was unsure how Fareeha kept so calm, marching the medic towards the front gate where Tracer and Genji were waiting. She held her rocket launcher in a straight diagonal angle across her armored chest. She held her head high – her face void of emotion. It was impressive how well she'd handled the situation. She'd taken charge immediately. It was a fearless display that Angela admired. She would've been a good addition back in the golden era of Overwatch. It was a shame she was there having to pick of the pieces of her predecessors mess.

The Bastion unit that had been following behind them made a beeping noise. Angela tensed.

"Must we bring it with us?" she questioned. Fareeha chuckled lightly.

"Canon fodder. If it's a true attack he'll draw fire while we escape."

"Does Torbjörn know your plan for his new… pet?"

"No and I didn't ask."

"Hm… I hope is not too angry with us."

"Would you rather it be me or Genji?" Pharah's brown eyes gleamed with mischievous undertones that Angela elected to ignore. She shrugged the question off nonchalantly.

"I would rather we avoid injury or casualties altogether if we can help it… even this Bastion." She motioned to the omnic behind them. It beeped cheerfully once more. "Do you think it knows our intentions?" Her question was quiet – meant only for the Egyptian. She shrugged.

"I don't know – doubt it."

Oddly, Angela felt guilty thinking of the Bastion that way. It was a sentient creature and it seemed to feel. How could she think that it was any less than she just because it could not speak and display its intelligence verbally? It made her nervous. It was natural after everything she'd been through, but her role as a doctor dictated that she take care of all those that she could.

She glanced back at the Bastion who seemed to look at her, most likely looking her over with its sensors. It beeped a friendly beep and waved, taking note of her attention.

She decided then that she would take great care to assure that this Bastion stayed safe as long as it was in her power to do so.

As the group approached the gates they could see Genji perched on the lookout spot that was high above the main gate. He was peering over with his back to them, balanced in a crouched position. He seemed focused on something in the distance that was blocked by the large solid metal gate. Genji glanced back at them, making a gesture.

Suddenly, Tracer blinked up. It was always jarring when she seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She saluted Pharah like she would a commanding officer.

"Report Tracer," the Egyptian said.

"As Athena said… two intruders. They're not in Talon amour, though!"

"They're not?"

"Nope."

"Do they look affiliated with anyone?"

"No. But… I think I recognize one of them!"

"You do? Who? Who?"

"Well… he's wearing a mask, but I've seen him on the news. A vigilante… Soldier 76."

"And the other?"

"Don't know."

"Where are they?"

"Walking up the road. They're nearly here."

"Ok, Lena, report back to Winston and see if Athena has detected any further possible hostiles. Quickly. If it's all clear then… perhaps we'll have a talk with our… guests…"

"Aye aye!" She blinked away, vanishing instantly from sight. Pharah looked at Mercy.

"Let's climb the watch tower and have a look for ourselves." She turned to the Bastion. "Sit tight, keep a look out." She directed. It made a 'bwee' noise and slowly rocked backwards, squatting slightly. It fell back, plopping with a loud thud on its metal bottom, sitting down on the ground with its hands flat behind it and its feet propped apart. It was sprawled out like a child wait for his mother to read him a story. It looked very innocent that way. "I didn't mean that quite literally, but good job, Bastion." It beeped.

* * *

Fareeha Amari

When they reached the top of the tower Genji greeted them.

"They are almost here," he said. "You can see them from here, but I would suggest caution… one is a sniper."

Both intruders were dressed in dark colors. One was a man in a leather jacket carrying an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. The other was a woman with, as Genji said, a sniper rifle hanging behind her back by a strap. Both were masked, barring identification.

"Tracer said she recognized the man… I recognize the woman," Fareeha said.

"You do?" Angela questioned. The odds seemed too unbelievable. It was no coincidence that two notorious crime stoppers were suddenly making an appearance at Overwatch HQ.

"Yes. She goes by… Shrike, I think. She's wanted for espionage, assault, and theft in Egypt. I've seen wanted posters of her likeness."

"So Soldier 76 and Shrike, hm…" Angela mused. "Two people known for taking the law in their own hands knocking on our front door? That can't be good."

"Are they going to shoot us or join us?" Genji asked rhetorically.

"No way of knowing until we speak to them," Fareeha said before pausing, "or until they open fire." She looked between the ninja and medic. "Be prepared for a fight." She popped a piece of her armor up, pressed a button and said "Raptora systems ready… if need be." She looked at Angela. "Can you keep up with me?" Mercy half smiled and spread her wings in a bright flare. So beautiful.

"Of course I can," she hummed. Fareeha smirked, looking back to the approaching pair.

"I wish the others would hurry." She moved to the other side of the lookout, leaning over the railing and looking at the Bastion they'd left behind. "Bastion!" she called down to it. It looked at her with a questioning beep. "Turret mode. Guard the door!" It chirped in understanding, climbing clunkily to its feet and then spinning as it transformed into a turret.

"Angela, Fareeha," Genji beckoned from his vigilant position watching the intruders. They were standing at the base of the front gate now, staring up at the ninja – their masks pointed in their direction.

"We know who you are!" Pharah called down at the two.

"Oh?" the female, Fareeha knew as Shrike, asked.

"Vigilantes like you hardly go unnoticed. You think you're some kind of masked crusaders? Some kind of super heroes?" The man chuckled almost bitterly.

"Maybe once, kid, not anymore," he said in a gruff voice that prickled with age and a hint of familiarity.

"Soldier 76, right? That's what you call yourself."

"Hm. Sure, if that's how you choose to address me."

"You have another name?" Angela asked. 76's red visor turned in her direction. He ran a hand through his white hair.

"Once," was his simple answer, but she could hear the sadness laced in the single word.

"What do you want?" Fareeha called down.

"Only to talk."

"How do we know you aren't going to attack?"

"You don't." Lena appeared then, blinking in from somewhere. She reeled, visibly steadying herself as she took in the situation. Her arms flailed slightly as she rocked back on the balls of her feet. Soldier 76 focused in on her.

"Tracer," Pharah gasped, jarred slightly by her appearance. She grabbed her arm to help steady the woman and keep her from toppling over the railing of the lookout stand. "Report," she whispered, trying so that the possible enemies below could not hear their strategy.

"The others are down below. Ready for battle," she said. Fareeha released her, turning her attention back to the two to continue their parlay.

"You don't," 76 repeated. "But it'd be pretty damn dumb for us to attack. Out numbered: two versus whatever number you have behind that gate. Out gunned: my rifle against that big rocket launcher you have there. Tactical idiocy."

"Maybe you're not very bright then," Fareeha tested. Shrike chuckled, looking over at her companion. He glanced back at her and grunted. They seemed to exchange thoughts non verbally. "What would we be talking about?"

"We have information that may help you."

"In exchange for?"

"Let us in and we will discuss it." Fareeha seemed to think it over, her eyes focusing on the two hard as she went over her options.

In that moment she was the voice of Overwatch and the decision was hers to make. If she made the wrong one then things could end poorly. It was a small thing – a decision that could end in a few deaths or injuries. It would be a tragedy, but it was nothing compared to what her mother had dealt with back during her days as Overwatch's Captain. She wondered if her mother had ever struggled with decision making.

She could remember walking into her mother's room late at night and seeing her leaning over paperwork. Fareeha could still see the bags under her eyes – not from the lack of sleep – but from the burden of command. Overwatch was a voice that shaped millions of lives, and sometimes it seemed the reigns of the beast slipped away from Captain Amari.

For a few agonizing seconds Fareeha reflected on the decisions that led to the destruction of the original Overwatch. She wondered what Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes had done that allowed everything they'd spent their lives building to crumble beneath them. It was a mistake she would never want to repeat. How badly could one little mistake in judgment tear down everything in a ripple effect?

With the upmost cation Pharah said, "Eject your clips and I'll see you through the gate." Soldier 76 gave a single nod. A hatch on the top of his rifle popped and a glowing clip of pulse ammunition fell to the ground. It popped back into place, empty, and useless.

"Fareeha," Angela said gently, laying her hand on her shoulder, "are you sure about this?"

"Aren't you curious, Angela?"

"They could be spies or have ill intent."

"Or they could help us. Like he," she motioned to the side, "said, they're out numbered and out gunned. What can they do?"

"Alright… I support your decision."

The rest of Overwatch was assembled next to the gate when the two returned from their conversation with the intruders. Genji stayed back to assure that the vigilantes didn't rearm themselves.

"Pharah!" Reinhardt yelled when they reached them. "What did you find out?"

"They say they want to offer us assistance. I've accepted to hear them out."

"You're goin soft of me Pharah!" Torbjörn yelled. "It's a trap!"

"If it is then we'll deal with it." She moved in front of the gate with Angela at her side. "Lena open it up." She held her rocket launcher vertically in front of her chest, pointed up as to not appear threatening, but still at the ready if its use was needed. As the gate slid open the two intruders stepped inside. It closed behind them – cutting off any kind of escape.

"You can call me Pharah," Fareeha addressed the two. She motioned to her companion who was still firmly beside her. "This is Mercy. Behind us is-"

"We know who you are," Soldier 76 cut her off.

"Oh?"

"You're not exactly discreet," he huffed. His masked face turned towards Winston then over at Tracer who was still standing by the gate button. "Like you two dueling Talon in public. Pretty hard to escape public eye, don't you think." Winston laughed nervously drawing 76's attention.

"Uhhh yeah… Gorillas stand out," he joked, a smile on his face.

"Obviously."

"We were trying to protect the Doomfist Gauntlet!" Tracer defended, blinking forward to stand beside Winston protectively. She placed her hands defiantly on her hips.

"Sure, you were and you did. But you all are operating illegally. You're criminals."

"Uhhh, so are you," Winston pointed out.

"I'm not a large organization of people strictly prevented to operate worldwide by an act placed specifically on him." Winston laughed again.

"He has a point."

"My _actual point,_ " he said the words harshly, "is that you've attracted more than just attention from those wanting to enforce legal action against you. Talon is after you."

"You don't say?!" Torbjörn yelled.

"Uh yeah, we know that already!" Lena said a little more polite.

"I'm actually referring to a specific member of Talon…"

"Reaper?" Genji asked from where he was perched above them. 76 glanced up at the ninja, taking note of his stealthy observation. "We've fought him before."

"He crushed my glasses!" Winston added, sadly.

"It's ok, big guy," Lena comforted, patting the gorilla's arm.

"Then clearly you've noticed he shows up around you all a lot."

"Clearly," Fareeha said, her eye brows narrowing. She was losing her patience with this pointless drabble about things they already knew. She felt like she had made a mistake.

"There's a reason why and it makes the danger you're in all the more-"

"Is that my gun?!" Torbjörn yelled cutting off whatever vital information he was going to dispose.

He shoved past the group, pushing Angela into Fareeha in his steaming stomping rush to the female vigilante. He shoved his rivet gun up at her.

"That's my gun!" he yelled again, motioning to the rifle on her back with his claw arm. She stepped back, raising her hands slightly in start. 76 moved to stop the engineer, but Pharah aimed her weapon. He paused, looking at her.

"Call him off," he hissed.

"Torbjörn, what are you doing?!" Fareeha demanded. He looked at her.

"That is _my_ weapon! The biotic rifle I designed using Angela's nanobot tech!"

"Uck, that thing…" Angela mumbled. "Wait… wasn't that…"

"Where did you get that?!" Torbjörn shouted, cutting Angela off.

"Why don't you take a few steps back, Ikea gnome," Shrike growled lowly.

"What did you call me?!"

"Torbjörn! Enough! Enough!" Reinhardt shouted. He shoved Torbjörn back with an easy push of a single hand causing the small man to slide behind the large German like he was nothing. He looked down at the woman blocking the Swede's view of her, his head tilted so he was looking her in the mask. "Sorry, m'lady, he… gets a little angry." She put her hands on her hips.

"So much rage for such a little man," she said. Reinhardt chuckled.

"That's our Torbjörn!"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" The dwarf yelled up from behind the large German, his voice slightly muffled.

"Hush down there!" Shrike laughed.

"My knight in shining armor… literally…" she said, almost flirtingly. Reinhardt paused, looking at her in question and caution.

"Ok that is enough!" Fareeha yelled, finally having enough of the train she was conducting wreck repeatedly.

The two vigilantes exchanged glances. The woman sighed.

"You knew we couldn't keep this up," she told the man. He nodded.

"I told you we shouldn't have come," he replied.

"You wanted to be here as much as I."

"What are you two talking about?!" she demanded. Fareeha was level headed and didn't get angry often. She just wanted answers, and none were coming.

Shrike nodded at Soldier 76 who returned the gesture. She looked at Fareeha. Though, it was clear there was meant to be emotion in the exchange of glances the mask obscured what could have been.

"Is that anyway to talk to your mother?" she asked Pharah. That caused more confusion.

"What?" Her voice had turned to a whimper, having lost all its power. She couldn't quite wrap her head around what was going on. Angela's fingers raked gently through Pharah's hair, knowing instantly what was about to happen.

Reinhardt was the one to break the endless moment of silence. "Ana?" he whispered, staring down at the masked woman.

She pulled her hood down and dug her fingers under the edge of her helmet. It popped out of place and as it was removed a braid of sleek white hair fell around her shoulder. She tossed it on the ground, revealing truly that the vigilante Shrike was the thought deceased former Overwatch Captain and mother to Fareeha, Ana Amari. She smiled solemnly up at her old friend.

"Ana!" he exclaimed at the conformation.

He scooped her up in his arms – she was a small woman compared to his large size and fit snuggly against his armored chest. He held her tight squeezing her in a way that it was worrying he might harm her. However, she returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around his neck and cuddling up to him.

"Oh, Reinhardt," she hummed.

After a moment he sat her down and took a step back to look her over. He seemed conflicted.

"How can this be?! We thought you were dead…" His tone was relieved, astonished, and touched with the memory of heartbreak. She looked away.

"I'm sorry… After everything that happened? I just needed time."

"Mom…" Fareeha uttered. Ana's attention drew to her. Sadness painted her countenance.

"My darling Fareeha," she hummed. Pharah took a few steps forward.

"I thought… You were dead… Y-you…"

"I'm very much alive, Fareeha." She opened her arms, beckoning embrace from her daughter.

Inside Fareeha felt so many different emotions it was hard for her to juggle which ones were the most prominent. Disbelief, for sure. Joy. Anger. Sadness. She wasn't sure what the protocol for finding out your long dead mother is actually alive was. She would have to write a book on it when everything was over.

Right then, though, all she could do was run into her mother's arms. The hug was lovelier and more bittersweet than anything Fareeha had ever dreamed of experiencing before. Ana still smelt like she did when Fareeha was a child and her skin was still as warm. It was like a flashback from her childhood and for a few moments she couldn't decide if she was dreaming or not. Everything was too real though, too detailed. If it was a dream… Pharah never wanted to wake up.

Her mother was alive… She was alive and in her arms. She was here.

"I wrote you a letter… explaining everything, but I never sent it," Ana said, combing her daughter's tear stained hair. "I thought your life would be easier if you thought I was dead." Pharah pulled away.

"No, not easier!" she objected. "Never easier…" Ana looked away.

"I know, I'm sorry. I failed you all… and couldn't do it any longer."

"But you're back!" Reinhardt yelled.

"I never was one to stand by while the world went up in flames," she hummed, looking back at him. She kept her grip on her daughter.

"Old habits die hard," a forgotten voice grumbled, pulling the attention of all of Overwatch to the remaining masked vigilante. Fareeha wondered if there would be another big reveal. She braced herself half expecting Soldier 76 to be that goldfish she'd forgotten to feed - back when she was twelve back from the dead and ready to go to war. She still blamed Jesse for not helping her take care of that thing – he had promised, after all. The true reveal was just as surprising.

"You know they're waiting," Ana told her companion, still holding Fareeha.

"I doubt I'll receive a welcome as warm."

"You won't know until you try."

Everyone was staring at Soldier 76 as he popped the mouth guard and visor from its mount.

Everyone was silent as they realized who it was.

"Jack Morrison."

* * *

Soldier 76

Angela had been the first one to speak in a tone of total shock. The utterance of his name on her lips sent chills up his spine. He felt so misplaced – so strange – in a place his leadership had once shaped, in front of people he once called friends. They stared at him like he was an alien in complete opposite of Ana's warm embrace.

That was until Lena Oxton blinked towards him and wordlessly wrapped her arms around him. She buried her cheek against his chest. He was surprised at first – as unsure how to react to her as she had been to him. He hadn't expected that – a hug. But Lena… she always surprised him. It was good to see she hadn't lost her optimistic outlook on the world. He wrapped her arms around her, cautiously returning the gesture. Angela joined in then, folding her arms around both he and Lena. He extended the hug to include the young woman. She hadn't aged a day in six years. The others stared in wordless astonishment.

He understood. Their once great leader who had fallen so hard. He had failed them all. He never expected to be accepted.

"Jack?" Fareeha asked, taking his existence into question. He looked at her, still standing close to her mother. He hadn't seen Ana that happy since they'd partnered up.

Fareeha or Pharah, as she had called herself, on the other hand, stood out greatly from the rest of the reformed Overwatch. She'd really taken initiative leading the whole situation. She certainly took after her mother. It seemed naturally that she would inherit a leadership ethic.

"How?" she asked.

"When the HQ exploded…" Angela whispered, looking up at him with tears filling her blue eyes. "Y-you were gone… we… we thought you were dead…" She untangled herself from the hug. 76 released Lena, who rubbed Angela's back comforting her as the tears streaked down her cheeks. "I searched for you… we all searched for you… We mourned you. The whole world mourned you."

Jack always hated seeing Angela cry. She was a woman driven by emotion and good intentions, and that had always weighed heavily on her. The worst he had seen her was the span of a few days when Genji's body was rejecting one of his implants. She thought he was going to die, and she blamed herself for it. She wouldn't leave his side – saying that if he died she wanted to be the last one he would see. She did everything she could to assure his robotic body functioned and anytime he had any bit of intense pain she would hold his hand and soothe him in a comforting voice. When she allowed herself to step away from his side, however, she would just cry. She didn't want him to see how dire his situation was, but she felt the brunt of it. Jack had held her during one of those break downs, just letting her cry on his chest.

He saw that same grief on her face that he saw then. He could tell that she blamed herself for not saving Jack – for not doing all she could. Jack didn't blame her though. It was his burden to bare – his fault. Never hers.

"I'm sorry, Angela," he said as gently as he could manage. He touched her arm briefly with a gloved hand. "The world was done with me and I was done with it. I apologize that it hurt you." He looked at the faces of the people he'd once led so proudly. "All of you. What happened was my fault… But you all are the ones shaping the future. That's why we're here… If you think this is a shock," he motioned to himself and Ana, "… there's one more coming."

The party moved to the meeting room. Jack hadn't been there in such a long time it was almost nostalgic. He could still remember sitting around the round table with Ana, Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Gabe… Before the world had beaten them and cast them aside. It was surreal to be sitting once more with the original members of Overwatch around that same table: Ana, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn… one short. He had to swallow the lump in his throat, looking at Ana as she talked cheerfully with Winston. She was glad to be there. At least one of them was. He felt wrong – out of place. This wasn't his Overwatch anymore.

"I know you've had run ins with Reaper before," Jack said, cutting off whatever Ana was idly saying.

"Jack," she said with disapproval, "do we have to do this already. I'm catching up!"

"We didn't come here to catch up, Ana," he replied. "How many?" he asked, returning to his topic. He looked at Winston. Winston glanced around at the others.

"Three?" he questioned, scratching his head thoughtfully. The others nodded in assurance.

"Once at the museum," Tracer said cheerfully. "We stopped him from stealing the Doomfist Gauntlet!"

"Then he attacked me here at Gibraltar," Winston added. "He was trying to steal the recall roster."

"He would've known every members location," 76 said. He nodded to himself knowingly. "He didn't?"

"Nope."

"The big guy 'er kicked his butt!" Tracer announced with a grin, pointing at Winston with her thumb.

"And the last time?" Jack asked.

"At a science lab in the middle east," Angela said sadly. "He was after me."

"Angela and I managed to force a retreat," Genji said from behind her chair. He put a mechanical hand on Angela's shoulder.

"Don't you see the trend?" Jack asked.

"Clearly he's targeting Overwatch officials, but most of Talon is," Winston said.

"No, don't undersell his motivation."

76 pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and slapped it onto the table. It was wrinkled and torn in a few places. A few dark drops of crimson speckled the page. Written on the paper in dark pen was a list of names. Among them was the name of every single person in that room minus Fareeha. Winston's was at the top in bold and Ana's was at the bottom. Jack's was circled multiple times in what appeared to be anger. A few names were crossed out in red ink… or perhaps blood…

"What is this?" Angela squeaked. Genji's grip on her shoulder tightened.

"This is Reaper's list… His goal is to kill every single one of you."

"Why?" Winston questioned.

"Revenge."

"Revenge for what?" Angela asked. "What did we do to him?"

"Nothing," Jack said surely. "But he blames you all for my… sins…" He looked away. "For the things I've done that may or may not have led to this point."

"You know who he is?" Lena asked. Jack nodded solemnly.

"Yes," he said, standing from his chair. He paced around the others, circling the table. He paused on the other side, resting his hand on an empty chair. He closed his eyes, feeling the pain of the truth he was about to reveal. Then he desolately murmured, "Reaper… is Gabriel Reyes."

* * *

 _A/N: I am so hyped for this chapter. So much happens in it! We got 3 new present day characters, a new POV, and the first 3 person POV chapter. Plus, all the reveals. Honestly, I never intended for Pharah to have a POV in my story. I love Pharah, and I think logically she has a very bright future in Overwatch. *hint hint* Especially, with the guidance of her mother and Jack. It's also quite possible that the ship dynamics may shift... We shall see! Rewrites on chapter 1 are have been completed so I suggest if you've been with the story from before this point then you might want to go back and go over it again. They pretty majorly shift the dynamic between Reyes and Morrison just like the new comic did._

 _Thanks for reading and don't forget to review! It would make me extra super happy!_


	10. Chapter 10

Ch. 10

Soldier Enhancement Program Training: 34 Years Ago

Gabriel Reyes

Dinnertime at SEP was always a fucking circus. One would think that they had warped back to middle school when stepping foot into that mess hall. It was easy to rationalize that it was just soldiers blowing off steam after a hard day of training, but Gabriel couldn't stand the noise. He wished someone would try to get them to act like professional adults, but none of the officers seemed to care.

He tried his best to stay away from everyone and their loud childish behavior. Ignorance is bliss it seemed. Gabriel wasn't fooled quite as well as the other sheeplings that had joined SEP. He knew the stakes, but it was better if they didn't. Not yet anyway. Though, reality would at least shut them up. He was sick of listening to the yelling. He kept headphones in, his eyes down, and his head on the goal. Fraternizing with the riff-raff was just a distraction. Still, he could hear the two men a few seats away from him talking loudly to one another. It was annoying, and making it very hard for him to enjoy his shitty meal.

"Will you two shut the fuck up and go die in a hole or something?" He snapped at the two men who'd been drowning out the music blaring in his ears. He heard them mumble something, but he didn't care to pause the music to listen. They picked their trays up and moved down the table a ways. Gabriel smirked to himself.

"Scaring away the locals, I see," a familiar voice said between switching songs. Gabriel glanced up to see the pretty golden haired soldier who'd broken his nose. He sat his tray down beside Gabriel's and slung his leg over the bench, sitting down saddle style and facing Gabriel. He paused his music, removing the earbuds so that he could speak with Jack Morrison.

"I'm making sure they understand this is _my_ territory," he replied.

"You gonna try that predatory shit on me?" Morrison asked.

"Hmmm I don't know," Gabriel shrugged. "We'll see what animalistic instincts I develop. Just don't try breaking my nose again." Morrison chuckled. He swung his other leg over the bench so he was facing his food.

"So why are you sitting here on your own?" Jack asked innocently, ignoring the innuendo in Gabriel's statement. He wondered if the little blondie was really that dense, or if he just elected to ignore Reyes's playful passes.

"Because people suck," Gabriel answered, taking a bite of his food.

"Sounds like you're generalizing, Reyes."

"You got proof that I'm wrong. You saying you don't suck?" Morrison cocked his head to the side.

"I'd certainly hope not," he admitted with a nonchalant shrug. Gabriel looked at him with scrutiny. The stare that met his gaze was blank and unobservant. He raised one dark eyebrow and smirked.

"Shame," he purred, brushing a stray curl from out of his face. Jack looked at him carefully.

"You cut your hair," he said, motioning at Gabriel.

"Hm? Oh yeah – I did." Gabriel ran his fingers through the short curls on top of his head. "I thought an undercut might please you better." Jack blinked in surprise.

"What? Tell me you didn't…" he started to object. Gabriel rolled his eyes.

"That was sarcasm, blondie." He folded his arms and leaned back slightly. "Though you did make me realize the long look was fucking stupid."

"I didn't mean anything by it," his tone was saddened like he blamed himself.

"Stop being so damn cute. You didn't, but it was. I was trying to grow it out for a badass metal look, but the in-between isn't really my thing. This looks better, right?" Morrison looked him over thoughtfully. He smiled.

"Yeah." Gabriel grinned.

"Good. I have the boy scout seal of approval then." He took a bite of his food.

Morrison ate quietly for a few moments. He looked concentrated – like he was trying to find _some_ taste in the overly bland food that SEP supplied. Better than standard military rations – at least.

"Is your nose better?" he asked, looking at Gabriel with concern. Reyes shrugged.

"Yeah. That shit they injected into it did its job. Needle sucked worse than the broken bone though. I'm good to go – breaks all healed. Don't worry your pretty little head."

"Why are you such a dick?" Morrison huffed. He crossed his arms. "I'm just showing concern for breaking your nose."

"If I'm such a dick why are you here?" He put his headphones back in his ears. "I was fine just lounging around by myself. You're the one that strolled over here and started complimenting my hair."

"That's not how it went," Jack grumbled. His eyes narrowed. Gabriel laughed.

"That's how I remembered it." Morrison growled.

"Do you get off on pissing off others?" Reyes shrugged.

"Not really. It is entertaining though."

"Look, I didn't come over here to argue with you." Morrison took a bite of his food.

"Then why did you, Morrison?" He sighed.

"You looked lonely." Reyes laughed.

"I'm not lonely. I'm fine by myself." Morrison looked him over, thoughtfully.

"If that's how you feel then," He grabbed his tray and started to stand, "I'll go."

The strangest most unwelcome twang of panic rose in Gabriel's chest. It was such a familiar feeling – like he was about to lose something if he didn't act quickly. He hated the intrusion of the anxiety. He hated the emotion that stirred briefly.

Still, he grabbed Jack's wrist as quickly as he could – too quickly, in truth. Morrison surely noticed. "Wait," he exclaimed a tad too loudly, as well. Gabriel hadn't thought. He had only reacted on instinct. Jack explored Reyes's face with his sky blue eyes, hesitant in his retreat.

"Fine," he hummed. Gabriel released his wrist, allowing Morrison to place his tray back down and sit.

"I didn't mean to try and drive you away. I'm _not_ lonely, but I don't mind the company… from _you_ anyway." Jack smirked. He had called Gabriel's bluff expertly. Somehow he'd known that Reyes hadn't actually wanted him to leave. Perhaps, he wasn't as empty-headed as Gabriel had originally assessed.

"I feel so special." It was sarcasm. Reyes liked it. Morrison was far too polite sometimes. For most of the other soldiers he liked the respect, but for Morrison he enjoyed far more to push his buttons.

"Indulge me, Morrison," Gabriel began after pausing a few moments to scarf down a few bites of food, "if you think I'm such an asshole why exactly are you sitting with me? For real…?"

"I'm not lying to you, Reyes. You just seem like you need a friend." Gabriel snorted. The word friend had become somewhat foreign to him.

"Friendship is trivial in our line of work, don't you think?"

"No? It's good to form bonds – have something to fight for." Reyes snickered.

"Ah, you're one of those."

"One of what?"

"A romantic. An idealist. I bet you joined to army to be some big damn hero too, didn't you? Big bad Jack Morrison's going to kick all the omnic ass, right?" Jack blinked at him.

"Not exactly. I did join because of the omnics though. Didn't you?"

"No. Sure that's why I joined SEP, but…" Gabriel sighed, "but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Fine then. But if you want to know I joined because of the omnics, but not to be a hero. I was going to be a field medic." Reyes almost spit out his coffee.

"You? A field medic?" he asked skeptically. Morrison smiled. It seemed he got that reaction a lot, and was more amused by it at that point than taken off guard.

"Yeah, actually. I had already started going to medical school… trying to get off the farm and all…" He rolled his eyes at "the farm," like he was trying to skip over that little detail best he could. Of course Gabriel would never let that go.

"Right, I heard you were a farm boy," he said causing Morrison to grunt.

"Yeah… I thought being a nurse or doctor or whatever would be a nice escape. Turns out running off and joining the military is just as good of one. Gets you further away, at the very least." He sighed, leaning forward pensively. "I hadn't been going for about six months when the news started reporting about the omnic rebellion in Russia. No one had any damn idea what was going on. The omniums starting going quiet… I thought maybe it'd be better to apply myself… here. I used the tiny bit I'd learned and started training in field medicine, but it turned out I was a lot more useful as a frontline soldier." Jack sighed. He scratched the back of his blonde head. It seemed like it troubled him. Like he doubted his abilities.

"Field medicine," Gabriel said, leaning forward so he was eye level with Jack. "Sounds real useful, honestly." Morrison blinked.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean… a kick ass running and gunning soldier who can patch your ass up in a pinch that's super fucking helpful." A light smile began to replace his frown. "You aren't always going to have access to a doctor, so someone who knows what he's doing is always going to be good to have along."

"Thanks, Reyes," he said. "I've never been too sure about this whole… soldier thing. I didn't ask to be a combatant – I was just good at it. Sure I did track and stuff in high school, but I never really thought I was athletic or skilled enough to be _here_ with people like you." Reyes couldn't help but smirk at the compliment, but then he realized Morrison's admission actually should make him sad.

He didn't realize how big of a pawn in the game he was. Gabriel had seen his skills – in hand to hand, at least – up close and personal. It was no doubt he _was_ capable. However, those Soldier Enhancement pricks had gone about promoting their initiative as if it was some coveted position looking for only the best. It was too risky for The Best, however. Even Gabriel had attemptedly been barred from joining. He had forced the issue. He wanted the enhancements, and SEP wanted him. His CO's begged him not to go; told him he'd be court martialed if he did anyway. SEP was an officially funded by the American military, however, and they had no actual grounds to prevent entry. He went anyway.

Gabriel would never have told Jack the truth though.

"You'll do good here, Morrison." He clapped him on the shoulder causing him to smile. Gabriel could only hope that what he was saying was the truth.

* * *

"This is state is state of the art technology designed to help train you to fight the omnics. You are going to be our first line of defense. This is going to mold your knowledge of omnic tactics long before you go into the field… blah blah blah blah blah," Gabriel stopped listening to that self-indulgent general talk about the combat simulator. Sure, it was a _combat simulator,_ it was fucking cool. Him going on and boasting about it was not interesting at all, however. "We have compiled and designed the adaptive VI's based on omnic interactions collected from Russian soldiers and scientists in hopes that the other countries could build their own enforcements if the uprising spread. With our program the…" he explained the logistics of the simulations and how everything was going to work. "As far as you're concerned this _is a real_ battle. Other than training you to fight omnics this will allow us to assess your leadership and teamwork skills. This is where you prove to us where you belong. Make your country proud." With that the general excused himself delegating the responsibility of _actually_ training onto the other SEP officers.

Officer Nowell stepped forward.

"We'll be splitting you into three groups and choosing at random each groups leader. You can micromanage other titles amongst yourselves. Group leaders have final say. We back at 'mission control' will be monitoring your comm chatter and see how you all work together as a team. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" the crowd of soldiers announced.

"This is fucking stupid," Gabriel muttered to himself a little too loudly.

"What's that, Reyes?!" Gabriel sighed.

Nowell and he had briefly been in a unit together back when he had first joined the army. Nowell'd been a shit soldier back then. Preliminary SEP studies had been his way to escape dishonorable discharge. A redemption. By some twisted sense of fate that fucker had managed to survive the pre-alpha studies while the other subjects had… well…

"I said this is fucking stupid," Gabriel repeated louder so the whole crowd could hear him. "We're not in fucking high school. I'm a higher military rank than your dumb ass. I'm pretty sure I don't need some misfits telling me that I'm command material." All eyes had fallen on Reyes's hard face.

"Are you command material, Reyes, really?" Nowell's smartass smirk made Reyes want to make him his next physical confrontation. It was knowing and it angered him. "We're not at boot camp anymore. So you're going to have to just suck it up and follow goddamn orders. If you keep this shit up it'll be your ass!"

"What're you going to do? Kick me out back to my perfectly successful military career? I'm shaking in my boots. No, you need people. You need skilled people. You need _me_." The other officer touched Nowell's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He huffed, crossing his arms.

"Get in line, Reyes," he breathed, ending the argument to the best of his ability.

"We're military funded," the other officer said, "and this could affect that record of yours. Insubordination isn't pretty." The two men moved off to a control panel. "When we call your name please group up into the first team!" he called out to everyone.

Gabriel stood in the corner, smoldering in his anger while the rest of the soldiers grouped up. He hated Nowell and he hated that place even more every day. A part of him regretted his decision to join the program, but he had multiple reasons why he did so. He had to keep those in mind lest he lose sight of his goal.

"48," the other officer called Gabriel's number. "Team two."

Reyes huffed moving to the other side of the room where a few other soldiers had grouped up. He was still glowering when the officer called, "76, team two." Gabriel's eyes fell on Morrison as he moved to join their squad. He hadn't noticed that he'd even been a member of the crowd before then. He'd most likely been wrapped up in his own head. Though, with him on the same team as Morrison maybe the idiotic exercise wouldn't be _too_ bad.

"Nice show, Reyes," he said as he joined up with the group.

"Always aiming to please, Morrison," he replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the officers as they dispersed the remaining soldiers into their respective teams. They proceeded to move to each group and designate each leader.

"Group two," Nowell said looking them over. He smirked at Reyes before his gaze moved over to Jack. "76," he murmured, reading his dog tags but clearly not knowing who he actually way. "Morrison. You'll do."

"Well thought out decision," Gabriel muttered with an eye roll. Jack looked over at him with confusion and slight concern. It was clear he was not confident. The officers moved on to the final time leaving Reyes to look over at Jack. "Well, _Commander Boy Scout,_ what's our roles?" Jack rubbed the back of his head hesitantly.

"What do you guys want to be?"

"Really just like that?" Reyes asked, but he was drowned out by the voices of the other men and women shouting out which rolls they wanted to fill during the simulation.

"I always wanted to be an arms expert," one man shouted.

"Kay sounds good," Morrison agreed.

"Infiltration scout always seemed like a kick ass job!" a woman called out.

"Have at it, Kiara." He smiled as he assigned the jobs that each person asked for, aiming to please rather than succeed.

"Oh boy, are we going to lose," Reyes muttered to himself. "Morrison, how is this going to help?"

"We need to fill the roles, don't we?" he asked innocently.

"Sure, but these rookies aren't qualified. Why don't you find out their credentials before giving them jobs?"

"It's a training exercise so that the higher ups get an idea of our skills, so they're experimenting with their abilities."

"Right a military training exercise to learn how to kill omnics not laser tag in the local arcade. We need to learn, not play around." Morrison crossed his arms and stared at Gabriel without amusement.

"Ok, so tell me _your_ 'credentials'." He snorted.

"I can do and have done everything. I could fill any of the roles, be your second, handle the guns, sneak ahead and tag enemies, I'll do fine assaulting from the front or… attacking from the rear…" He sighed. "Just put me where you want me… not where I want me. That's how this _should_ go."

"Mkay, Reyes, then you're our field medic." Gabriel's eye lids fell half way as he stared at Morrison with the most 'go to hell look' he could manage which was a pretty intense sight.

"Of fucking course that's what you picked." Morrison's smile turned satisfied and he seemed very young in the moment – almost childlike. He chuckled, but it came across as a slight giggle to Gabriel.

"You told me to pick," he reminded.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck you Morrison."

"Ok, ladies listen up! This is how it's going to go," the officers called out pulling everyone's attention. "There will be a winner of this little test… just to motivate you all. We work on a point operated system. Your general goal is eliminate all omnics. You do that and you've already succeeded. You don't? You've lost and you're going to be running laps in the morning. Those who do will be judged on how many men you've made it out with, their condition, and how many civilians were saved. And remember… we're listening… do your jobs well and there's nothing to worry about. This will affect your placements later on." He paused. "Now get in there!"

* * *

Gabriel's team had been set up in what was emulated to look like the second story of a building. The jokingly dubbed, Commander Boy Scout, was staring out a window down at the simulated omnics below. Turner, the girl who had wanted to be his second in command, was scrolling through a tablet that was given to them. They were uploaded with information about each omnic class and how they had been observed to behave. Gabriel was sitting against the wall casually with his arms crossed tight over his chest. He observed the rookies fumble about as they discussed their strategy. It was interesting to him how into the exercise they were. Gabriel was the only one slouching off on his own while they all huddled around and whispered amongst themselves, giving their opinions on route for attack.

Morrison was an interesting one. Not many "commanders" would take so much consideration into the opinions of the "subordinates." Gabriel pegged him as a people pleaser. He was that kind of guy with a kind smile and gentle words that allowed everyone to warm up to him. Perhaps, that's why Gabriel even kind of liked him despite his distaste in people in general. Or maybe it was just because Morrison had actually cared enough to go out of his way to befriend the disgruntled solider. Effort mattered, after all. Or maybe it was just because Jack was fucking hot. One of those.

"What if we split up half and half and assault from frontal and rear positions?" Kiara, the "infiltration specialist" suggested.

"Hmmm… that'd work, but there's minimal cover on the rear path," Morrison answered. "If the Bastion units spotted you they'd tear you apart."

"I see, not a good idea then."

"Looks like its amateur hour," Gabriel muttered to himself, pulling a bit of attention to his lonely sulking corner.

"Reyes," Morrison said in revelation like he'd forgotten him. "What do you think?" He smiled when Gabriel looked up.

"You want my opinion now?" he grumbled.

"I've always wanted your opinion. I want everyone's." Gabriel sighed, pulling himself up from the ground. He took the tablet from Morrison and skimmed through some of the profiles. He already knew some of the information.

"Alright well," he murmured, "those Bastions shoot fuck tons of bullets, so a frontal attack is fairly out of the question… unless, one of you non-field medic people have some sort of… bullet deflection?" He glanced around at them. "Thought not. Best bet is to distract the Bastion units. They'll detect anyone sneaking up behind them, but if they're already firing on a target it'll be easier. They have a weak point on their back when turreted up, so anyone who gets the flank should have no problem taking out the Bastion unit." Gabriel handed the tablet back to Morrison.

"That sounds… ideal," he hummed. Gabriel smirked cockily.

"Not bad for a field medic, eh, Commander Boy Scout?" Morrison's smile was sly.

"That will be all, Medic Reyes." Gabriel shook his head.

"Back in the corner I go then. Let me know if you need any… med packs or what the fuck ever." He flopped back down, pulling his legs to his chest and observing as the planning continued on from his jump off point without him.

Eventually they decided to send the infiltrator girl and another soldier to flank the Bastions while the gun expert darted between covers to draw fire giving them the opportunity to strike. Morrison decided on taking Tuner and wiping out the smaller omnic troopers on their own, leaving the single OR unit to be taken on as a team. Gabriel was, of course, instructed to stay behind in the building in case anyone needed healing. He wasn't too happy about that.

He leaned against the single window of the room they'd set up in, watching the distraction team and the assault team get ready. Morrison and his teammate had already vanished from view, preparing to keep the omnic troopers from disrupting the Bastion takedown. He was bored out of his mind and totally disappointed with his role.

"Waste of my talents," he grumbled.

He felt like he was back in elementary school, sitting under a lone tree with a book while the other kids played on the playground. No one wanted to play with the weird kid. They were all too afraid of accidentally making him angry. Kids didn't want to give him a chance to prove he was more than the negative reputation that he would carry around all through high school.

Somehow he'd thought Jack was different.

* * *

The arms expert wasn't the deftest runner Gabriel had ever seen. His speed was lacking, and he didn't even try to move unpredictably. As he dodged from cover to cover the turreted Bastion units fired away, picking away at the armor he had graciously been given due to his role with each hit. He was a dumbass.

"How are things going?" Morrison's voice prickled in Gabriel's ear. He rolled his eyes, resting his chin in his hand as he watched the gun expert guy trip and fall.

"Pretty shitty, Commander Boy Scout," he replied.

"Shit, shit, shit!" the guy on the ground yelled, scooting back hastily as the Bastion unloaded simulated bullets.

"See," Gabriel hummed, watching in amusement.

"You ok, Johnson?" Morrison asked the downed man.

"No, no!" he yelled, shoving himself behind some cover. Gabriel examined the tablet with his team's virtual vitals on it. Johnson's was flashing red with a tiny sliver left on his life bar.

"Yeah Johnson is fucked," Gabriel said with a hint of satisfaction.

"Reyes, get down there and stabilize him then!" Morrison demanded seriously – too seriously for the little game they were essentially playing.

"Nah, I don't really feel like it." Johnson craned his neck, peeking up and around the cover to see the window where Reyes was casually leaning.

"What the fuck are you doing?! I need healing." he yelled.

The Bastion, seeing the edge of Johnson's stupid head, unloaded once more. Gabriel watched his health bar flash and turn black. A buzzer sounded from down in the field, signaling a teammate death.

"Good job, dumbass!" Gabriel yelled down to him since his "death" cut off his comm. Johnson sprung up, thrusting his arm in the air with his middle finger lifted. He pointed it towards Gabriel. He just laughed, amused by the whole situation.

"Reyes, what's going on?" Morrison chimed back in. His breathing was labored.

"Oh, nothing. Johnson's dead, though."

"What?! What happened?"

"He moved out of cover to yell at me."

"Fuck."

The other distraction guy was the next to get cut down, but he'd kept up the charade long enough for infiltration to take out one of the Bastions. The idiot decided to pause to watch it fall and that allowed the remaining Bastion to take out his health bar. With the distraction team down the Bastion's sensors then focused on those two soldiers trying to sneak up and shoot its weak spot. He got them before they could even fall back to cover. It was about that time that Turner's life bar went out.

"Shit, how many is left, Reyes?" Morrison called out over the speaker.

"That'd be just you and me, Commander Boy Scout," he answered nonchalantly. He paused. "So what's your orders?" he followed up sarcastically. Gabriel could see that Morrison had taken a few hits by the omnic troopers, but all and all it was nothing that Gabriel's abundance of medical supplies couldn't mend.

"I took out all the omnics in the room." He huffed, allowing silence to follow leaving only static. "There may be reinforcements, but hopefully we'll be clear. How many remaining on your side?"

"One Bastion. Oh, and that OR unit on the other side of these buildings."

"You think we got this?" Gabriel snorted a laugh.

"That depends on how competent _you_ are."

"Cocky." A sly half smile spread across his face.

"I can be." The slightest laugh traveled between the comms.

"Stay where you are. I'll be there shortly. We regroup, and we take them out."

"Big damn heroes of the simulated world, right Golden Boy?"

"Getting ahead of yourself, Reyes."

It took Morrison a few minutes to return to the room, but when he did he seemed frustrated.

"Johnson said you just ignored him and wouldn't go help him out," he grumbled clearly disgruntled with Gabriel's unwillingness to play to his shitty part. Gabriel crossed his arms.

"Hey, not fair. You're not supposed to be talking to the dead bodies. How did you meet him anyway? His 'corpse' is guarded by Bastions." Morrison sighed, his square jaw tensing in irritation.

"He met me on my way here."

"Dead guys aren't supposed to move."

"Tell him that." Gabriel sighed.

"Guess I'm not a very good healer then, huh? Maybe he shouldn't have been dumb enough to peek out when a Bastion was aiming down at him?" He sighed.

Gabriel could feel anger bubbling up in his chest. He didn't want to yell at Morrison, in all honesty. So he bit his tongue, forcing down the heat of rage best to his ability. The only thing he could think of though was decking Johnson in his stupid face.

"Speaking of healer, here." Gabriel tossed a little metal device at Morrison who caught it without hesitation. "I'm not exactly sure what it's supposed to represent, but it'll refill your health bar." Gabriel tapped the tablet where Morrison's bar had gone back to full. Jack looked at the device in curiosity.

"Looks like they don't care if the simulation isn't exactly accurate with the fine intricacies of field medicine," he mumbled distantly.

"I guess." Gabriel moved back to the window he had been at before, looking out at the Bastion. Morrison followed, observing their enemy. "Orders?" He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stayed silent, most likely thinking over the possibilities.

"I think we should proceed with distraction and flank," he finally instructed.

"You think the two of us could pull it off?" Morrison sighed running his fingers through his golden hair.

"So long as you actually do _this_ job." Gabriel chuckled.

"I think I can. Who's the distraction?" Morrison looked Gabriel over.

"Alright, Reyes, what do you think you could do best?"

"Hm… well, I am pretty distracting, but you said you ran track in high school, didn't you?" Jack seemed surprised at the information drop. His smooth fair forehead wrinkled and his blond eyebrows rose.

"You remembered that?" he asked. Gabriel smiled.

"Of course." Jack returned the grin. "Well if you're a fast runner then you might be a little better at not getting shot as the distraction. I promise that omnic won't last long."

"Hm… I like your confidence." Morrison shoved his rifle into Gabriel's hands. "Make sure you live up to it."

"Understood, Commander Boy Scout."

* * *

Morrison moved with a certain drive. He was agile, fast, and seemed to have a lot of stamina. The spraying Bastion had immense difficulty catching him, and by the time the bullets would near their mark Jack would dodge into cover, or it would have to reload. It was quite clear to Gabriel that Morrison should've been the distraction all along. Had he started off in the positon befitting him perhaps the squad wouldn't have been wiped. Gabriel could have watched Morrison run for hours, taking in every expression, every pump of the muscle. He couldn't loiter, though. He had to be quick and quiet. Luckily, that was his specialty.

The Bastion didn't even notice Gabriel as he unloaded his clip into the bot's critical weak spot. It didn't notice the first few shots. Almost as if its threat detection sensors prioritized targets in its sights rather than those massively damaging it. By the time it did spin around it decided that its best option was to use its self-repair feature. Gabriel dodged behind a building, while Jack emerged from cover and unloaded his side arm pistol into the omnics back. When it spun back around to him, self-repair ended, and the bullets began to fly once more prompting Morrison to return to his hiding spot. It also allowed Gabriel to spring back up and finish the Bastion off. It collapsed on the ground, vanishing in a holographic flicker of death.

Jack popped out of cover, cautiously. He looked around, gaging the danger level. When he'd decided it was clear he looked over at Gabriel who had just stood there watching in interest. Morrison smiled, his thin pink lips turning into a grin that exposed perfect gleaming white teeth. Gabriel couldn't help but smile back at him whole heartedly. His adorable innocent smile was contagious.

"That was… a lot easier than the others made it look!" Jack announced.

"Don't celebrate prematurely. We still have the OR14 to take care of," Gabriel replied, shaking his head.

"Right?" Morrison sighed, leaning against a piece of rubble. "Any suggestions?" Gabriel sighed.

"Not a one."

Gabriel tossed Morrison his rifle back. Jack caught it with a surprised "oomph." He looked at him in question while Gabriel paced over to one of their downed teammates. He grabbed the guys discarded shotgun.

"Hey," the "dead" guy complained.

"You're not using them, zombie," Reyes replied, shaking his head. He looked at Morrison. "I'm more of a… shotgun guy. I like to get up close and personal," he explained. Morrison exhaled through his nose quickly.

"Why am I not surprised? C'mon let's see if we can get a view on that OR unit. Maybe we can come up with something then."

* * *

The OR14 wasn't exactly in a fortified position. It was stationed in the middle of a street with dead cars piled around it. However, due to the rows of fenced off buildings on either side there was absolutely no flanking the omnic. However, the derelict cars did provide cover for a direct attack.

"Any ideas?" Morrison asked again. Gabriel sighed. He nodded at Morrison.

"What about you, Commander Boy Scout?" Morrison shrugged.

"Charge?" He nodded.

"Let's see if we can convince it to react then maybe we can gage its motivation."

"Good idea." He jerked his head towards the large robot in the distance. "Let's go."

Morrison led the charge leading Gabriel towards the bot in a hail of bullets; a few shredded into the OR14 with sparks. It reacted jerking into attention and shooting a small metallic orb forwards causing a large half-dome shield to spring up guarding the omnic's front. Seeing this, the two soldiers dodged down behind a vehicle, slamming their backs hard against the bumper, their shoulders pressing together.

"Well, shit," Gabriel huffed.

"What are we going to do?" Morrison gasped, clutching his rifle to his chest.

"No way are we going to charge that thing. Did you see that huge ass gun on its arm! It'll shred us."

"We can't pick away at it from a distance either… that shield makes it impossible. Ugh, fuck. Why'd you have to let the whole team die, Reyes?"

He slammed his pretty head back into the grill. Gabriel thunked his head back as well. He looked at Morrison who was gasping and staring at the sky like it held the answer – his smooth white Adam's apple exposed for anyone to touch their tongue against.

Gabriel had to force himself to focus.

"Okay, okay," he muttered. "It can't shoot us both… So let's split up. You go up the right side, and I'll go left. I'll draw its attention while you move up and you draw it so I can move up. Once we get close enough… let's charge through its shield at the same time and… and hope for the best…" Jack nodded.

"Yeah, seems like the best approach…" Gabriel nodded.

"When I get its attention, fucking go."

At that Gabriel leaned out from behind the car and fired on the omnics shield. It, seeing a hostile, began to unload its big ass arm gun. Gabriel ducked back down, but the force of the hard rounds pegging into the car caused him to be knocked onto the ground. He would have fallen onto Morrison had the blond soldier not already charged up and gotten behind another car. When the bullets ceased Gabriel peeked around the corner. Morrison was crouched a few cars away, readying his rifle for his part of the distraction. He glanced over to where Gabriel was still hiding. Their eyes met – brown on blue – and Jack nodded once. He spun, leveling his rifle on the trunk of his cover and firing on the omnic's protective bubble. Gabriel quickly jumped up, rushing from his spot as he heard the OR unit's bullets shred the air and slam into Jack's car. Dodging behind another set of cover, Gabriel looked back over to Morrison. Their eyes met once more and Jack smiled assuredly. Gabriel laughed lightly to himself and gave Commander Boy Scout a thumbs up. He swung back out of cover, repeating the assault on the shield to draw fire away from his new partner.

It took countless rinse and repeats for both men to work their way up to parallel positions with the omnic's shield. Both squatted behind cars, panting and peeking around at the enemy waiting for a chance to move in.

"You ready, Commander Boy Scout?" Gabriel asked jokingly.

"On three," Jack assured. Gabriel could see him ready his weapon and he followed suit. "One," Gabriel took a breath. "Two," Jack and Gabriel exchanged a glance. "Three."

Gabriel lost sight of Morrison as he heaved his body up onto the car he had been hiding behind. He focused only on his careful movements as he rushed up and over the hood, leaping off and through the omnic's shield. He angled himself facing the OR14 and began to unload his shotgun repeatedly into the bot. He could hear the sound of a rifle's fire near to his right and could see its bullets rip through their target's armor.

For a split second during the action that he processed in near slow motion, Gabriel thought that he and Morrison might just be able to pull this off. They probably wouldn't win… after all most of their men had "died." However, due to he and Jack's impressive display they would most likely be favored by the superiors at SEP. Gabriel wasn't sure if he cared about some dumb training exercise or what the officers would think of his performance. He thought that his previous military record served more than enough to prove his capabilities. However, he had gotten caught up in the fun of the activity within itself, and with Morrison. Jack was an interesting and genuinely nice guy and Gabriel was starting to really like him… The thought was scary…

Gabriel was just starting to plan his victory ceremony – ironic, of course – when the whole plan crumbled apart.

Instead of firing on its two attackers, the OR unit shot a strange green orb. At first, Gabriel thought it had missed since the thing had just floated past he and Jack, moving behind them as the two soared through the air firing upon the omnic. 'Stupid thing,' he had thought to himself or at least tried to. He had only managed to consider the OR14's mental processing for a millisecond before all the momentum gravity had built on his moving body seemed to be halted. One second he was falling to the ground and the next he wasn't. He began to move up, instead, and backwards. He couldn't even begin to fathom what was happening before he was yanked hard and fast towards where he had come from. He flew back through the shield they had worked so hard to move past, and his body went smashing right into Morrison, who had been caught in the singularity as well. The two men went crumbling onto the ground. Gabriel hit the concrete first, his head slamming into it with a crack. Morrison came tumbling after, landing hard on top of the other man.

Gabriel was dazed for what felt like only moments, but was undoubtable unconscious minutes. Through his eyes he saw only stars and darkness. When he managed to blink his vision back it was Jack he saw. The blond man was crouched down in front of him, worry on his face. The lighting in the area seemed different. Everything was more artificial and the background behind Morrison's head was gray. Though, the beaming incandescent light shined through his gold hair in a yellow hue that made him seem almost angelic. Jack's blue eyes searched Gabriel's face for something – a sign of consciousness, perhaps. Gabriel could feel a soft warmness on the back of his head, though there was also a wet and sticky sensation. He shifted, moving into the grip that was holding his head up. Morrison was cradling his head, it seemed.

"Reyes?" He asked in a voice that was so velvety.

"Mmmmmorrison," Gabriel moaned unintentionally. He shifted further into his grasp, turning his head so that his cheek was rubbing into Morrison's semi-callused palm. The sticky wetness spread to the side where he touched. "Mmmorrison… you're bleeding," he moaned. The knock to the head had disoriented him quite intensely.

"No, Reyes… you're the one bleeding," he replied. His gold eyebrows knitted. "Reyes, stop squirming." Jack grabbed his chin, securing his head from turning further. He held him in place.

Gabriel tried to shake the fog in his brain. He focused on his sensations. His eyes stayed trained on Jack's beautiful face while his ears listened in on the sounds of his breathing. He smelled rust… blood… fresh blood… Was it his? He could taste the blood, as well, though he wasn't sure why. For a few moments he thought his body was numb, but when he concentrated he could feel Morrison on top of him. He straddled Gabriel's left leg partially and he weight pressed lightly into him. Morrison's stomach leaned against Gabriel's arm as he bent to examine the injured man.

"Damn Reyes we haven't even began the injections and you've already hurt yourself twice," Morrison joked, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. Gabriel snorted, finally getting his bearings on the situation.

"Both your fault," he grumbled, a little too harshly. He had meant for it to come across as a joke. "Hmm… what happened?"

"The OR14 kicked our ass," Morrison replied. "That graviton field yanked us back and you hit the ground pretty hard. You broke my fall, though." He paused. "Thanks for that, by the way." A chuckle. "You busted your head open…"

"Fuck… does that mean I'll have to get another shot?" Reyes asked almost innocently. The idea caused a shiver to go up his spine. Jack smiled.

"I don't think so. I don't think you fractured your skull… You may need some stiches though." Gabriel groaned.

"Ugh… more needles…" He took a breath, trying to steady himself. "Will you come with me?" The question sounded childish, and the tone must have taken Jack off guard because his mouth gaped open. He blinked his sky blue eyes in surprise. He nodded, though, seeming to understand Gabriel's issue.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I'm here for you." Gabriel sighed.

"Thanks, Morrison. Nowell's never going to let me live this down."

* * *

"Needless to say, we lost… Hope you're ready to run laps in the morning," Morrison said as he entered Gabriel's exam room. He had returned from the debriefing with the officers. His pale face was flushed, having obviously rushed from where all the other soldiers had been held to get to Gabriel's side.

"Fuck…" Gabriel grumbled, trying not to move as the nurse examined his wound. She was standing over him with a stern look on her face, looking annoyed that he'd returned with another injury so soon.

"If you'd just played along like the rest of us," Morrison lectured.

"Dammit," Gabriel snapped. His body jerked accidentally due to the reaction. He groaned and the nurse tsked in disapproval. "Don't you get it? This isn't a game. This could become a war. People could die." Morrison shook his head.

"I know that! I was trying my best. I've never led anyone before, and I don't know why they picked me." He looked down, clearly ashamed at having voiced his insecurities. "You could've tried though. You made fun of me wanting to be the hero, but you were the only one trying to stand out back there."

Gabriel stared at Morrison hard as he turned around, running his fingers through his gold hair in frustration. He lowered his head, causing the nurse to make another noise of irritation. Gabriel dealt with his own uncertainties. However, Morrison was right. If Jack had put past what made him anxious then Gabriel could have too. He sighed.

"You're right, I'm sorry… I shouldn't have." Jack turned back around, looking at Gabriel critically. He examined him carefully, trying to read his countenance. There was no lie. Jack sighed and smiled assuringly.

"It's ok," he said. "Though, the others might not be as forgiving." Gabriel snorted.

"Like I give a fuck what they think," he blurted, not quite realizing that he'd made it obvious that he'd grown to care about Morrison's opinion. Morrison didn't seem to catch the proclamation, however.

"Alright, 48," the nurse said. "This will need some sutures." She stepped back.

"Fuuuck," Gabriel groaned.

"No bone damage this time, though. Good job at… avoiding that, at least." She moved over to a table to ready the stitches. While she was turned away Gabriel looked at Jack in semi-desperation.

"Help," he mouthed. Jack smiled sympathetically. He moved over and sat beside Gabriel.

"I'm right here," he assured. The nurse returned, positioning herself behind Reyes. Jack took Gabriel's hand as the grouchy old woman stuck the needle into the side of Reyes's head causing him to grip Jack tightly. "It'll be ok," his smooth voice assured. He squeezed back to prove his existence to the squirming man. "I'm right here."

* * *

 _A/N: This was a pretty tough chapter for me. Though, oddly most of it was written in a very short period. I don't know what it is about past Reaper76, but it IS difficult. Though, I'm glad to have a nice little fight scene back in the story since it's been like 7 chapters since the last. Anyway, I'd like to think a special guy who is always super helpful when it comes to these stories. Not only is he my sort of BETA reader he also helped me structure the OR14 fight when I prompted him with the question "So how do you think 76 and Reaper would take out Orisa on their own. Oh, and also Reaper can't wraith." His support is most likely one reason this story has gotten as far as it has, honestly. 3_

 _Thanks for reading and don't forget that comments/reviews are SUPER DUPER APPRECIATED!_


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Before we start I'd like to give a huge thanks to everyone who reads, and a extra huge thanks for anyone who goes outta their way to leave a review. Y'all are da best! :D Please remember all reviews are appreciated!_

Ch. 11

Present Day

Jesse McCree

The address Sombra had given them led to an old apartment building. It was one of those old brick complexes that had been built some century ago and left unchanging among the other architecture in London that had blossomed to fit the modern times. Years ago it had been an apartment complex for omnics. However, after the null sector incident it had been purged, and was left vacant ever since. Just outside the walls Overwatch had pushed to remove the extremist threat and bring peace to King's Row. Though, the mission had been successful peace had never come.

McCree had seen the conflict first hand. He'd been an ever-present scout for Reyes during the campaign, providing shadow support for the main strike group below. He and Genji had actually camped out in that building a night or two during the whole fiasco.

Now he was standing before it once more with another Shimada. Sombra had most certainly chosen it on purpose. Perhaps, it was to evoke an emotional response from him.

Nothing was ever a coincidence with Sombra.

"You sure bout this?" he asked his companions, looking at Hanzo's stern and unreadable face. "We can still turn back." Hanzo's dark eyes met McCree's. He shook his head.

"I think we shall be fine," he replied. "I believe we should have some sort of tactic, however. Perhaps you should meet with this… Sombra. I will sneak in and scout out the upper floors."

"She knows we're here together though. She'll be wondering where you're at."

"Does she truly expect us to just stroll in without taking precautions, then? She will understand and if it's a trap then the element of surprise has already been defeated." Hanzo's sharp features glistened in the moonlight; his serious expression and hard eyes giving confidence to his words.

"Alright. If that's what ya think is best. I'll be fine on my own just… be careful…" Hanzo smirked.

"I always am." He turned to move to the alley next to the building, but paused. He turned back to McCree. "Promise me you will not be reckless." McCree smiled, feeling a little like he cared… just a little.

"I've kept myself alive this long." Hanzo snickered, turning his head to the side to hide the genuine smile.

"Sheer luck, I assure you."

"You sayin' I should be dead?" Hanzo backed towards the alley.

"You survived me." With that ominous semi-threat, he vanished into the darkness of the silent street. McCree had to take a minute to steady himself. That man was a confusing one.

He turned back towards the building, approaching it with caution. He listened in, trying to detect if he could hear anyone on the inside. It was quiet. McCree would never be able to get used to how still it was in King's Row at night. The last time he'd seen it, it was a war zone. Now, it seemed like the war had been lost and the area held only ghosts who'd been caught in the crossfire. The further away one would go from where the omnics stayed the livelier it would become. Otherwise it was as if no sentient life existed at all.

The inside of the old building was no different. The former apartment complex was falling apart on the inside. The walls were still stable, but bullet holes ripped them apart. He could see into the next room. It was empty besides tattered furniture and stripped wires. He wondered how man omnics had died inside those brick walls. Too many, was the answer to whatever statistic that could have been given to him.

The first floor was empty, so he decided to venture up to the second. He was a tad afraid that the stairs might collapse under his weight as he carefully clinked upwards. Each step offering harmonies of wooden squeaks and jingles from his spurs. Sneaking wasn't exactly an option for him. They'd certainly hear him coming from a mile away. Reyes had always bitched at him for wearing those spurs.

"Blackwatch is a super-secret section of Overwatch whose goal is to infiltrate, sabotage, and silently destroy, but you, McCree, walk around in big jingly boots and a hat the fucking size of Texas. You stand out like Reinhardt in a super market."

McCree had just laughed at his boss's attempted insult. He could only imagine seven-foot-tall Reinhardt dressed in full armor standing with a tiny little shopping cart picking out a box of Lucky Charms with Ana.

He moved through the hallway, peaking through every creaky old door for any sign of Talon or Sombra. It was vacant, however, housing nothing but dust and darkness.

McCree, finding nothing on the second floor, moved up to the third. That floor was familiar to him. It had been the one he and Genji had stayed at back during the Null Sector Uprising. He still remembered the very room the two had camped out in. With this in mind, he skipped past all the other apartments, focusing on the last door on the left. Slipping inside, he shut the door behind him and moved to the large window that overlooked the street below. Bright orange tattered curtains hung on either side of the glass pane. He rubbed the cloth between his fingers. It hadn't changed in all those years. Outside he could see a single light moving down the street. A motorcycle slowed down, parking towards the end of the road. A young human woman with a red bob got off, placing a pink helmet down on the seat. McCree would have been alarmed if it hadn't been for the cute pink sweater and flowing green scarf wrapped around her neck. She didn't seem like a Talon assassin, at least, though, he'd learned well enough that looks were most certainly deceiving. She crossed the street, moving without bothering to check for other traffic. She stepped into an alleyway, presumably heading underground to meet with an omnic friend or something of the sort. McCree turned away from the now silent street view, forgetting about the girl, and examined the bed. Back then they had chosen that room specifically because it had a bed. They hadn't quite understood exactly why it had, but they hypothesized that the omnic living there had been in a relationship with a human and that the bed was specifically there for him or her. Last he'd seen it, the white sheets had been ruffled from sleeping bodies and tossed back in disorganization. Now, the yellowing cotton was folded tightly against the bed, straight and wrinkle-free, the edge turned back and perfect. The rest of the building he had seen had been left in the disarray of evacuation. _This_ one… had been tampered with.

In the very center of the bed sat a small white and brown feather. He plucked it from the sheet, holding it up to his eyes to examine it. It was soft and the color pattern was a gentle gradient flowing from one end to the other. He'd seen one of those before. He couldn't quite place where, though, or what type of bird it was from. It had been left for him to find.

"You remembered, Señor McCree," a feisty Mexican accent snapped his attention. He spun around, still holding the feather.

"Sombra," he twanged, raising an eyebrow. She grinned.

"I'd hoped you know to come here. Took you a little longer than expected, _but_ at least ya figured it out." McCree sighed.

"How did you know bout this place?" She shrugged, pacing around the room and running her fingers against everything.

"I dug up an old Blackwatch report of yours. No big deal." McCree growled.

"What's yer obsession with me?" Sombra chuckled.

"No obsession, mi amigo. You're just a convenient piece of the whole puzzle. You'll see in time. Trust me."

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, _trust me._ " She sat on the bed and crossed her legs, leaning against the headboard casually.

"I don't know. You're a pretty strong man. You may be able to throw a small woman like myself fairly far," she teased. "So where's your boyfriend?" McCree stared down at her in disapproval. He didn't answer. "Ah, the sneaky route. No, that's ok, I understand. I'm Talon and all, ya gotta take all the precautions possible." She shrugged. "I'm glad though, honestly. It means I can get you all to myself," she squealed the line almost seductively. "No jealous boyfriends aloud." Her tone switched back to the common playfulness that saturated every conversation the two ever had. "Speaking of," she plucked the feather from McCree's grasp. "Nice feather." She stood, pacing cautiously around the cowboy. Pausing, she looked up at him, and slipped it under the band of his hat. She grinned up at him, admiring her work.

"What are you doing?"

"Accessorizing you." McCree took a couple steps away.

"Stop it. You asked me here to 'help' me. So what information do you have?" Sombra tsked, shaking her head.

"So serious… you never want to just talk anymore." He lowered his eyes in disapproval.

"Because I don't like you, Sombra." She huffed, shaking her head. She tapped her long, metallic, purple nail against her lip.

"You're breaking my heart, Señor McCree," she joked. Sombra flopped back on the bed, crossing her right leg dramatically over her left. She patted the spot beside her. "Sit, sit, and let me enlighten you."

McCree huffed and grumbled sarcastically, "I'm sure you will." He plopped down on the bed as far from her as possible. She scooted closer to him though, causing him to growl in irritation. She giggled. "So go ahead," he urged.

"Alright, alright, sheesh, so pushy." She held out her right hand, making a slight gesture that caused a floating, bright, holo-screen to appear above her palm. It held a picture of the warehouse that he and Hanzo had investigated. "You were wondering what we did here, right?"

"That would be the question."

"Well," she swiped her left finger causing the picture to move on to a crate, "it was raided to steal components to make," she paused for dramatic effect, "a bomb."

"A bomb?" McCree repeated. He wasn't really shocked, but for some reason that wasn't what he was expecting. "A bomb… meant for what?" She swiped, switching to an image of a large white city building surrounded by other white buildings. It looked like it was made out of strange material that McCree couldn't quite place, though he'd definitely seen it before.

"This."

"Which is?" She giggled.

"The Vishkar HQ in Utopaea, India."

"Wait, I hearda them. They make those buildings outta light or something, right?"

"Mhm."

"And Talon wants to blow them up?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Why do they want to do anything?" McCree sighed.

"Honestly, Sombra, I don't really know what the hell Talon does anything. They're terrorists – they – _y'all_ like the destruction." Sombra snorted, she closed her hand causing the holo-screen to vanish. She stood, spinning dramatically and cocking her head to the side.

"You have no idea, Señor McCree… truly no idea. Let's just say that they have something we want and taking them out from the root… well, it'll halt their opposition." She moved back a ways, towards the door. McCree sprung up, following after her.

"Why're you tellin' me this?" he questioned. She paused, grinning with satisfaction like she had been waiting for him to ask her that question.

"You make the game fun. It's a little more interesting with you as a player." She winked and strolled out the door. McCree chased after her.

"Sombra, what the hell does that mean? Stop bein' so cryptic…" he called after her as she moved down the hall. "Sombra, dammit." He was still chasing her when he heard _the gunshot_ popping off like thunder rumbling in a cloudless sky. It was a loud combustion of explosive metal ringing through the silent apartment complex. The quiet had settled around them and the loud, sudden, and unknown fire had startled him. Though it exploded through the whole area loudly, McCree could definitely tell it was coming from the upper floors where… "Hanzo!" he yelled realizing that his partner was most likely in serious danger. He shoved past Sombra, rushing up the stairs as fast as his clinking boots would carry him. His cheeks burned and stomach knotted in panic at the face of the sheer unknown. In the moment, he could only imagine the worst case scenario. It wasn't an image he wanted to visualize. Worse it wasn't a reality that he wanted to face.

The top floor of the building had been hit by a mortar shot back during the Null Sector uprising. It had actually been targeted at McCree and Genji themselves, but had failed extravagantly. Due to the damage, however, the top floor had been cleared of apartments. The omnics had repaired most of the damage before they were forcibly removed from it.

When McCree reached that floor, he drew his revolver before he could even evaluate the whole scene. He aimed it, ready to pull the trigger at whatever he needed to.

Standing in the center of the large near empty room was a man somewhat akin to a shadow. McCree could see only his broad back cloaked in all black, but it took only that to fill him with a sense of trepidation. McCree moved forward, his loud spurs jingling and ruining any chance of a sneak attack instantly. The man cocked his head to the side, turning somewhat towards the sound. A low rumble emanated from him it seemed almost pleasurable.

"McCree… McCree… your aesthetic giving you away once more," he growled in a deep absolutely menacing voice. He couldn't quite place it, but McCree knew that voice. He held his left hand in the air and twitched a shiny metal talon in a beckoning motion. "Come a little closer."

And slowly, for some reason, he complied, moving gradually towards the shadow hovering in the center of the room over something or someone. McCree wasn't even sure if the man's feet touched the floor or if he had any. He seemed to float in his location like a sentient fog incasing its victim. McCree could feel only muted and aching fear. Before he could even see his face he knew one thing: this man – this creature – was dread personified. As McCree neared he floated in a circle, revealing what his cloak had been guarding before.

Hanzo was crumpled on the ground, hanging his head. He sat, propping himself up on his hands with a look of exhaustion. His black hair was hanging loose around his face, covering his expression. Though, knowing Hanzo, it was of shame for his defeat at the hands of this… thing. His pants were torn on his right leg revealing a red and bleeding wound where buckshot had grazed him. He was holding his side like it caused him pain, but McCree couldn't, luckily, see that he'd been dealt any trauma there.

"Hanzo!" McCree yelled in worry. He looked up at him, pain clear on his face.

"Jesse," he huffed. His dark eyes were wide with near concern. It was almost flattering. "You must leave." McCree's heart ached. He hated seeing him like that. He felt guilty. He hadn't protected him well enough, and now he was hurt.

"I'm not leavin' you." He looked back up at the shadow.

Looking at his face enforced the aura of fear that emanated from him. He wore a white mask shaped simultaneously like a skull and an owls face. He wore a black hood, pulled up over it, and held a large black shotgun in one hand. It was pointed at Hanzo's face.

"Such dedication," he growled, looking between the two men. His gaze focused on McCree.

"You must be Reaper," McCree said, trying to stay cool in the moment. A deep, menacing laugh rumbled from his chest.

"Did the monkey tell you about me? He likes to talk, it seems."

"Uh," McCree scratched the back of his head with his left hand, "he's a gorilla, notta monkey." Reaper snorted.

"Whatever you say…"

"What is this?!" Hanzo demanded. Reaper looked down at him. He pressed the barrel of his shotgun against his cheek.

"This is you being bait," he growled. "Successfully." Hanzo's eyebrows knitted in anger. He jerked away from the shotgun. Reaper looked back up at McCree.

"This is for me?" he twanged. He held his elbow a little straighter, pointing his revolver right at Reaper's head.

"Don't flatter yourself." McCree pushed back his hat a little, and twitched his neck to the side. Reaper chuckled. "You still look ridiculous. Haven't grown out of the cowboy thing yet, huh? Hm, well… I guess I'm not one to talk."

"What're you talkin' about?" he demanded, confused as to why he was speaking as if he knew him. Deep in the pit of his stomach the dread that had been building spread. Something was very very wrong here, with this, with him.

"You were always so ungrateful." Reaper pointed his shotgun at him. "You never did see the bigger picture."

"What…?" McCree glanced down, noticing as Hanzo shifted. He slid away, dragging his body from under Reaper's towering shadow. In the distance, McCree noticed Hanoz's bow lying on the ground. "Why you keep acting like you know me?" He asked, trying to distract their enemy while he got to his weapon.

"You haven't figured it out, yet?" He shook his head. "You of all people I…" He paused, cocking his head to the side. "Trying to escape so soon, Shimada?" A dark black tendril of smoke stretched out from Reaper's body. It slid across the floor like a black cobra going in for a strike, and wrapped around Hanzo's ankle. It yanked him back towards Reaper and McCree. He yelled out, tumbling with momentum into Reaper's leg. Hanzo grunted, pushing himself up from the ground. His back was to McCree and he could see a bleeding scratch where the jagged wood had cut into his back.

"Hanzo," McCree called out in concern.

Reaper grabbed a handful of Hanzo's long midnight hair and yanked him up from the ground. He pulled his head back, exposing his throat and pushed the barrel of his gun up against it. Smoke and shadow seemed to lap around the two of them in what seemed like an attempt to absorb Hanzo into it. Hanzo grabbed Reaper's arm, trying to hold the shotgun away, but he didn't budge.

"Let him go," McCree demanded.

"Messy work being an assassin," Reaper growled into Hanzo's ear. "Isn't it, Shimada? Tell me about your greatest hit," he paused, taking in the pain on Hanzo's face, "that of your brother. How did it feel committing fratricide? Killing your own flesh and blood for your glory!?" Hanzo growled in frustration.

"You do not know me," he hissed. He pulled a dagger from somewhere on Reaper's belt, and spun, shoving the blade into his shoulder. Hanzo dodged under the shotgun and shoved himself back away from Reaper. Reaper reacted, moving the gun's aim to Hanzo's new position. McCree could see the madman's finger twitch.

"No!" he yelled, firing his own weapon.

For a few heartbeats McCree couldn't really register as to what had happened. He'd heard the gun shot. He'd felt the kickback in his hand, but Reaper didn't fall or even yell out in reaction to the attack. Instead, he just turned his head slowly to look at the cowboy. He glanced back over his shoulder at the adjacent wall, examining the bullet hole. McCree had missed. He felt his heart skip a beat. Reaper chuckled another threatening chuckle.

"Your aim has gone, I see," he teased.

Across the room, Hanzo was darting towards his bow. Reaper spun, aiming his shotgun at him.

"Enough!" he demanded. Hanzo glanced at him, but he kept moving. Reaper recalculated, changing his aim to McCree who was standing still with a look of shock on his face. He felt numb. "I said enough! One more step and I'll kill him."

'That's not ganna work,' McCree wanted to say, but to his surprise Hanzo froze. He looked longingly at his bow then at Reaper and McCree. Their eyes met and McCree's heart swelled. Reaper looked at the two men. He obviously noticed the exchange. He groaned.

"Ahh, love… so sickening…"

"I do not l…" Hanzo started to say, but Reaper shook his head.

"You can tell yourself that all you want." He looked back at McCree. "I remember what it felt like… to die for someone I loved. I would have given an arm… or a leg… for the people I cared most about… Until they turned their backs on me. You understand, McCree, don't you?" He looked at Hanzo. "What it's like to be abandoned by everyone you cared about. Be it by choice." His mask turned towards the cowboy. "Or by death." His deep voice drew the word 'death' out. He said it with near adoration. It was as if he was far more familiar with it than any living person should be.

Suddenly it all seemed to click into place for McCree. Every sign his gut had screamed out about, every word Reaper had said with a sense of familiarity: it all fit like a perfect puzzle that made up a picture of torture, pain, and death. He realized the truth, and it wasn't something he wanted to accept.

"R-Reyes?" he practically squeaked. The name came out so breathily and pained, McCree could barely recognize his own voice. As the name left his lips Reaper took pause, lowering his weapon. His mask was blank, but the gesture he made spoke a thousand words. He lowered his head.

"Yes," he said, almost void of all emotion or life in a voice so much like Reyes's but torn with agony and rage. Tears welled in McCree's eyes.

"How?!" he demanded in a weak voice. Reaper shook his head.

"Overwatch… Jack… they turned their backs on me. They left me to become… this…" Smoke whipped around him in a cloak of wispy darkness.

"Why Talon… after all you've done to fight them why would you join them?!" McCree had lowered his weapon and he was just waving it to emphasize his anger.

"They give me what I need to reach my end goal… I work for them in return."

"End goal of what?" Reaper paused.

"Vengeance."

"For who? For you?"

"For us... all of us… everyone Overwatch has harmed. Tell me you haven't forgotten, McCree. You live everyday with the consequences of their greed. And yet you've returned to them…"

"I get by knowin' I'm doin' good! That's somethin' _you_ taught me. Don't you remember?" Hot tears were streaming down his face now. His whole world was being turned upside down.

"I remember everything!" Reaper screamed. It was almost unearthly – as if he was morphing into some sort of demon. "You. Genji. Ana. Jack," his deep voice broke at the last name. "And you all abandoned me."

"I didn't! You know that. Reyes, dammit… You – you died… God… dammit." He squished the metal palm of his left hand into his eye, trying to squeeze some sense into his brain. He paced off towards the wall, stomping, spinning around and paced back. He threw his hands into the air. "You were dead, Reyes… You were… You…" he paused, looking off. His brain was running a mile a minute, processing all the information, running over every interaction they ever had, and trying to make sense of it all. "You really did blow up the HQ, didn't you?" He looked at the masked man he'd once looked up to in desperation. There was silence. Reaper didn't answer. He seemed to become transparent.

McCree was trying to decide if he was talking to some deranged spirit, or a real living person. Was this creature in front of him really Gabriel Reyes, the man he'd considered a father? Or was he just claiming so to tug at his emotions. Maybe he was just going crazy. He almost whished he was.

"Yes," he finally answered. McCree shook his head.

"I can't believe you… Jack… Jack was your husband and you… you killed him, Reyes! You were goin' on all about Hanzo," McCree motioned to where Hanzo had been standing, "killin' Genji, but you killed your husband!"

"Jack isn't dead either, you fool," Reaper hissed. "He escaped his retribution. He broke his vow." McCree wasn't sure how to absorb that info. He didn't know if he could. It was all too much at once. He'd have to think it over later.

"It don't matter. You tired to – you wanted to."

"I never wanted to." Reaper shook his head, chuckling. "Just to add on to the trend of old soldiers dying hard, I'll just give you the news now that Ana is still alive as well." McCree blinked, still trying to reason.

"That it? Is Fareeha's goldfish I forgot to feed still floating around somewhere a zombie, too?" Reaper didn't seem to find that too amusing. Admittedly, neither did McCree. He had just blurted it.

"It's possible," he replied. McCree shook his head.

"What do you want from me, Reyes? You wanna haunt me? Make me pay for cutting out before the whole fall? Not being there to blow up when everyone else did? What?" McCree holstered his gun. "Go ahead… do what you want." Reaper moved in on him, floating rather than walking. He leaned close towards McCree, his taloned fingers snaking up and grasping his shoulder. The barrel of his shotgun pressed into his gut. McCree knew at that range with that strength of shotgun his body armor would be utterly useless.

"I lured you here to offer you a proposition," he growled, emotionless like he was conducting a business deal. "Join Talon… join me… or be killed like the rest of Overwatch." McCree shook his head, his heart thumped hard in his chest.

"I'd never join Talon. Y'all're worse than the Deadlocks, and I will never be a criminal again."

"So be it." He pressed the shotgun harder into McCree. "Any last words?" McCree sighed. He looked hard at the mask that expressed only hate.

"I loved you, Reyes," he said. "You were the only father I ever had…" McCree closed his eyes, hanging his head. "Just do it. I just hope it makes you feel better." Silence befell them and he expected his death to come in a few heartbeats, but it never did. The shotgun's barrel was still pressing into him stomach. McCree's brown eyes darted over to Reaper's mask. Black hollowness emanated from the eyeholes, but he could still feel that there was eye contact. He had hesitated. There was a chance and with it…

"McCree! Get down!" It was Hanzo's voice and the demand was one that McCree would never deny. McCree knocked Reaper's gun away, the yell having caught him off guard. He dropped to the ground, falling down at the man's feet and grabbing his hat so that he didn't lose it. He glanced up watching as an arrow was forced out Reaper's chest. The tip was coated in dark black blood that dripped down on McCree's face. Reaper spun, barely fazed by the arrow that was impaling him. He raised his shotgun at Hanzo who was drawing another arrow from his quiver.

"No!" McCree yelled. He pointed the revolved up at Reaper, and even though he hated the idea of shooting Reyes. It was him or Hanzo, and well, Hanzo wasn't with the bad guys. He fired, blasting a bullet up through his back and out his shoulder. Reaper spun back around, looking at McCree. He cocked his head as if to show a sense of betrayal. "I'm sorry Reyes," McCree said as a second arrow tore through his torso. He pushed back from underneath him, moving away from a shotgun blast that tore through the floor. Shadow and smoke whipped around him, forming a second shotgun in Reaper's free hand. He rotated, pointing one at each man. McCree rolled under a shot from one while Hanzo jumped away from another. They moved towards each other, crashing together in the center of the room. Both shotguns trained on them. McCree grabbed Hanzo by the shoulders and rotated him, turning him towards the back wall so that McCree's back was facing Reaper. A shot rang off, firing from the gun and embedding into McCree's body armor, protecting him and the archer from the gun fire. He could feel the force from it sting against his back, knocking the wind out of him. A second shot from Reaper's shotguns hit the metal protection.

"What are you doing?" Hanzo gasped, caught up in the moment.

"Savin' your ass, darlin'." Over Hanzo's shoulder, McCree could see a hole leading to the outside. It had been some of the unfinished construction that was meant to repair the building from the mortar damage. It had most likely been how Hanzo had gotten in, and it was their way out. McCree shoved his revolver into Hanzo's right hand. In one swift motion he swept his right arm under his legs and plucked him up off the ground. Hanzo blinked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Your leg's hurt - just hang on and shoot!" McCree replied. Cradling, Hanzo against his chest and rushed towards the hole. Hanzo, going with the flow, wrapped his left arm around McCree's neck and pointed McCree's peacekeeper at Reaper. Another shotgun blast hit McCree in the back, but he kept running. Hanzo fired, missing the first shot and the second. The final two, however, hit Reaper in the shoulder and lower abdomen respectively. Having been pegged with so many shots he finally seemed to buckle under the pain. He collapsed to his knees, shotguns vanishing.

"Get them!" McCree heard Reaper yell as he lept through the hole onto the ledge below. Hanzo held on tight, clambering to keep a grasp on both his bow and McCree's gun.

"Careful," he growled in McCree's ear as he was jostled around.

McCree sprinted as quickly and as carefully across the ledge as he could manage. He held Hanzo close, and tight, not risking him slipping.

"How d'we get down?" he asked urgently. Hanzo looked around, turning his head to examine their options. He pointed down across to the other building. The apartment complex was connected to it, but they'd be open to gunfire.

"We can jump down onto that balcony," he said. The small landing was a floor down, but it was open to a third floor lobby for a hotel or something. They could run to the ground floor from in there. He continued forward, racing along the edge. "If you drop me, Jesse McCree, my spirit will assure you do not have one second of rest," he threatened, holding on tight once more.

"If I dropped you, buttercup, I promise I'd dive off after ya," McCree replied almost grimly.

When they reached the ledge above the balcony Hanzo said, "Put me down." McCree looked at him in question. "If you try to jump whilst holding me you will hurt us both. Put me down." McCree gently placed Hanzo down on his own two feet. Hanzo carefully leapt from the ledge down onto the floor below. Even with a hurt leg he made the landing look deft and effortless. McCree followed him down, stumbling as he landed.

"Can you walk?" he asked. Hanzo nodded, limping forward and flinching in pain. "Hanzo…"

"I am fine," he insisted. McCree touched his shoulder.

"Hold onto me, I'll support you." Cautiously, Hanzo leaned into McCree. He wrapped his arm around the cowboy's waist. McCree gripped him close, supporting his weight as he started down the stairs.

Once outside they paused. McCree could see shuffling coming from inside and around the building they had been in; Talon troops reacting to Reaper's orders. A few had followed out onto the ledge. Others were flocking to windows while some rushed from the building into the barren street.

"Shit, Han, what're we gonna do?" McCree asked, holding Hanzo tighter against his side.

"They are surrounding us."

"Yeah, I can see that. We gotta move. There ain't no way we're taking them all on."

"Agreed. We need a route of escape."

McCree glanced around, taking in his surroundings. Talon was blocking them all around. He wasn't sure where all the troopers had come from. It'd been deserted before and now they'd all just appeared. There was at least a dozen of them. There was no way they'd kept quiet during the whole escapade.

"C'mon. We gotta keep moving." McCree lifted Hanzo slightly, heaving him forward down the street in front of them. There was no way that they would get out on foot with him being injured. Gun fire began popping off in the distance behind them, coming from the apartment complex. McCree dodged, pushing Hanzo towards the building they were walking by. They ducked down, pressing against the wall. He wrapped his arm around him, holding his own body around Hanzo's head to protect him. A bullet shattered glass as they passed it, causing McCree to move the archer forward faster. One bullet shot past them, hitting the girls motorcycle who had come earlier. "Wait, that bike. We can take it."

"Can you ride one of those… things," he said as if the right word wasn't coming to his mind.

"Well, I… never rode one of the hoverin' ones, but I have drove one of the ole timey wheely ones around!"

"I do not believe that they are quite the same." Hanzo shook his head in protest. "Genji almost killed me on one of those once. I do not hold the slightest amount of confidence that you are any better of a driver." McCree had to shake the images of Hanzo and Genji riding around Hanamura on one of those motorcycles. He could only picture Genji mischievously sticking his tongue out, his green hair pushed back straight by the force of the wind while Hanzo clutched to him with the most terrified look on his face. For some reason Genji had a pachimari under his arm. McCree didn't know why, but he didn't usually have answers for his strange imagination anyway.

"How'd Genji convince you on the back of one of those?" A bullet whizzed past his head, nearly skimming the edge of hat. He blinked in shock.

"Does it matter when we are about to be killed?" McCree shrugged, pausing beside the motorcycle. He let Hanzo free.

"Guess not," he said, looking it over. "Damn. No key. I think I may be able to hotwire it. Just… keep them from shootin' me, please, Hanzo." Hanzo nodded. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, and drew it against his bow. The Talon agents were closing in, still firing on the duo. Hanzo released the arrow, shooting one of them in the stomach.

A few dead Talon's and several dodged bullets later, McCree had managed to figure it out. It made a silent purr of life, and he jumped up.

"C'mon, Han, let's go." Hanzo lowered his bow. McCree swung his leg over the side and sat in the front seat. He picked the pink helmet up off the back. He handed it to Hanzo. "Put this on."

"You are kidding me?" he said. "This is no time for jokes!" A bullet shred past them.

"Just put on the damn helmet and get on!" A bullet pinging into the rear of the motorcycle spurred him to listen. He snatched the dreaded helmet from the cowboy's hand and clumsily placed it on his flattened black hair. McCree had never seen anyone scowl quite as well as Hanzo did. It was always impressive. Hanzo drew the string on his bow once more. He was quite the sight. A bleeding, tired man wearing a pink helmet that was too small for his head aiming a weapon with such ferocity and anger. He released the arrow, hitting the closest Talon agent in shoulder. "Han!" McCree called urgently. He spun, hopping on the backseat of the motorcycle.

"Go!" the archer demanded. McCree threw it into drive and began speeding down the street that led towards the more populated parts of King's Row. On the back, Hanzo pivoted in his seat. He aimed his weapon at the rapidly distancing talon agents and released one last split arrow. It hit the ground between two of them, taking both of them out. McCree glanced over his shoulder, watching them fall.

"Holy shit! You are amazin'." Hanzo just shook his head.

"Watch the road and get us out of here," he said, ignoring the compliment. He slipped his bow over his head, and silently snaked his arms around McCree's waist as they accelerated out of the area. He held on tight, clearly not comfortable on the vehicle. Normally McCree would bask in the contact, but as the wind whipped through his hair the only thing he could think about was Reyes and what he'd become.

* * *

"Are you going to be ok, McCree?" Hanzo's soothing voice called gently. He'd been very careful around him since they'd returned to the safety of the safe house. It was almost relaxing, in a way. However, it concerned him more than anything. Hanzo's sweet demeanor made everything seem all too real.

He wanted nothing more than for all of it to just be some terrible nightmare. He just wished to wake up back in his room at the Overwatch HQ. Reyes and Morrison were still leading the whole operation. Blackwatch wasn't on shutdown. He wished that'd he'd open his eyes to see Genji perched on his bed across their room reading a book with the scowl that'd been ever-present back then. He'd grumble and insult him for sleeping in so late, but McCree would just laugh it all off as he always did with his friend's bad attitude. Everything was so much simpler then. Reyes was still Reyes and not… Reaper.

"Yeah," McCree replied to the elder Shimada in present time. He sat on the couch, his hat beside him, and his head in his hands.

"I meant your back. You were struck quite a many times by those shotguns." Hanzo was on the bed, doctoring his gunshot wound on his leg with some of the advanced medical supplies Mercy had stocked them with. There was a sigh in his voice as he spoke to the cowboy with exasperation.

"My armor…"

"Can only do so much. I know it hurt you. I saw you flinch. Just let me check." Hanzo stood and moved towards McCree. He limped slightly, but it was obvious he was trying to ignore it and compensate for the weakness. He reached out towards him. McCree slid away from Hanzo, however. He never thought he'd ever reject a request to let him take off his shirt, but he wasn't in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for romance and he wasn't in the mood to be babied.

"Hanzo, please. Don't. I'm fine." Hanzo crossed his arms in irritation, his faux patience slipping in favor of his stock anger.

"Why do you not stop being so stubborn?!" he demanded. McCree stood, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm the stubborn one?"

"You are right now!" He turned away. "Continue to be a fool. I will not bother with you anymore then." He moved back over to the bed, sitting on the other side with his back to McCree and continuing to work on healing his leg.

"I just need time," McCree whispered, looking down. Normally he would be amused by how much they argued like an old married couple. He would have taken pleasure in that observation. Any joy was lost to him on that day. "I'm sorry." McCree put his hat back on his head and took a few steps towards the door. "I'm goin' to take the bike and try to get out of the dead zone so I can call Winston and tell him about the bomb they're planning to set at the Fishcar place. Dunno if it's true er not, but it's worth keeping an eye out on either way. Can't take any chances." Hanzo did not reply to him, not even to correct him on his improper pronunciation. "I'll be back soon."

He placed his peacekeeper in its holster, and opened the front door. For a moment, he lingered a bit longer, waiting to see if Hanzo would say anything or continue to give him the cold shoulder. When he chose not to reply, he stepped into the hall. As he closed the door the archer's voice quietly whispered, "Be cautious."

* * *

Hanzo Shimada

Hanzo had fallen asleep waiting for McCree to return. He wasn't sure what had woken him at ten till two A.M., but he rejected the idea that it was the lack of McCree's noisy snores. The apartment was vacant. McCree had yet to return even though he'd been gone for near over two hours. It shouldn't have taken him so long to reach the radius edge of Talon's jammer. Untangling himself from the covers he hadn't remembered climbing under, he investigated McCree's couch. His serape was still there, sitting in a messy pile with a white piece of paper lying on top. Suspiciously, Hanzo plucked it from its red nest and opened it up.

Written in messy penmanship the letter read, "Hanzo, in case you wake up before I get back, I went out to get a drink. I didn't want you (though I know you're definitely not) worrying about me missing and all. I just don't want to be sober right now. I can't think about Reyes anymore, and I need to forget about this shit. I'll be back in a bit. If I can still find my way, that is. Get some rest. You look tired and cold. Lo," was written, but quickly aborted and scribbled out. "McCree," it ended.

Hanzo sighed.

"Idiotic man," he muttered to himself, wadding the paper and tossing it onto the ground. He sat on the sofa breathing. McCree was probably out there making a drunken ass out of himself, and with his big mouth attracting Talon at the same time. There was no way that this wasn't a recipe for disaster. "I'm going to have to fix another diplomatic incident because he insults their beer." He shook his head, pulling on his boots and jacket, and wrapping his hair into a bun with a ribbon. It was almost a robotic movement of second nature. He didn't even have to rethink it as he strolled out the door to go rescue McCree from his demons.

Exiting the building Hanzo could see that McCree hadn't taken the motorbike to whatever bar he had went to for it was sitting down the alleyway between their apartment and the one next door. He could vaguely remember McCree pointing one out on their way up there. Something like, "Hey, Han, we should go check that out when we're not, ya know, savin' England." Hanzo hadn't answered him then, but now it was obvious to him that it was really the only option. Other than McCree's interest it was the only bar that could be in walking distance.

He arrived at the small brick building that was nestled between a closed flower shop and some office building. It smelt strongly like alcohol just from the outside. On the inside the scent was much more potent. Hanzo figured it would be rowdy as he found most Western bars to be, but this one was rather silent at the moment. There were a couple men spotted around the small establishment, sitting in chairs and sadly nursing their beers. It had to be near time for it to close, and most of the party drinkers had most likely already retired for the night. Behind were left only the sad drunks that clung to their alcohol as long as possible with hope that they could forget their woes.

McCree was sitting in the center of the bar, no one nearby but the bartender who was wiping down the space next to him. His hat was tilted forward on his hanging head as he nursed a bottle of whiskey between his hands.

"McCree," Hanzo said, approaching the cowboy. He placed his hand gently on his shoulder. "It is time to go home." McCree looked over at him with bloodshot eyes. He shook his head.

"Not ready yet," he grumbled in slurred speech.

"You are drunk enough. Let us go." He pulled at him, but McCree wouldn't budge from his seat. He pulled from Hanzo's grasp.

"Why don't ya sit? Have a drink with me… dunno if they have sake, but…"

"I do not want a drink…" But McCree pulled him onto a stool, anyway. McCree shifted. He poured a shot of whiskey in a glass that'd been sitting off to the side. He shoved it towards Hanzo, and it skidded on the polished wood, only stopping when he grabbed it reflexively. He held it, but did not take a drink. McCree swigged from the bottle.

"Hey you," an English voice called them. Hanzo looked up to see the bartender approaching. "You come to take your boyfriend off my hands? He's been causing a ruckus all night." Hanzo shook his head.

"He is not my – ugh – yes."

"Good. Damned Americans. Don't understand the fine intricacies of alcohol. You got an accent. You from one of them Asian countries?" Hanzo sighed, narrowing his eyes at the bartender.

"Japan."

"Then you understand my irritation. Your damn American here spat the beer out."

"It was warm," McCree grumbled distantly.

"Yeah, mate, it's good that way. What you think over there, Japan?" Hanzo shook his head, crinkling his nose is disgust.

"I find it repulsive either way," he answered.

The bartender seemed almost flabbergasted. He was apparently so shocked that he decided that Hanzo didn't even deserve a reply. He spun around, instead, mumbling, "Foreigners… all of em don't know good alcohol when they see it, I swear to ya," to himself.

"Can we go now, McCree. I am positive the bartender would allow you to take the bottle home with you. If we could just leave." Hanzo touched his arm and waved towards the front door behind them. McCree looked at him and then over at the bartender who had started cleaning glasses.

"We're about to close!" he announced, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Do you mind?!" Hanzo snapped, scowling at him. The man shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work. He leaned over McCree, speaking quieter and just to him, "It is dangerous here out in the open. Talon could be combing the city for us. This is not a defensible position and neither of us have our weapons." McCree's glassy eyes attempted to focus on Hanzo, but he seemed to zone out. "Please, McCree, come." He nodded.

"Fine, fine, if you insist, darlin'." He swung around on the stool, wobbling slightly. He slipped his butt off the stool and tried his best to stand on his feet, though he swayed. Hanzo looped his arm with McCree's and led him to the door. He let McCree lean on him for balance in comparison to how McCree had done the same for him when his leg was wounded.

"Hey, hey," the bartender called after them before they could escape out the large oaken doors. Hanzo paused. "Ya friend here didn't pay, mate." He sighed, shaking his head and shoving McCree out the door.

"Wait for me," he ordered. McCree surprisingly obeyed, stumbling outside and allowing the door to shut behind him. Hanzo backtracked, paying off whatever charges his partner had racked up – which were a lot.

When he finally slipped from the musty den of alcohol and cigarettes he found McCree sitting in the alley between the pub and the flower shop. Hanzo stood before him, looking down in exhaustion. He offered his hand.

"Why you doin' this, Han – takin' care of me like I'm some baby?" he slurred, slouching. Hanzo sighed. He sat on the hard cement ground beside the cowboy.

"Instincts, I suppose," he answered.

"Huh?" McCree murmured like he didn't understand.

"I spent my youth babying my little brother as well as a very interesting span of time where I was constantly keeping you from getting thrown in jail and paying for things that you lacked the money for."

"Right… much obliged."

"No obligation required. Right now, this is all part of my penance."

"I'm sorry. I know Imma mess. Reyes used to think so too. You'were right… I dunno how I'm not dead at this rate." Hanzo felt bad for the cowboy. He understood what it was like to feel like a disappointment.

"You need not worry, Jesse," he said with near adoration even using his first name. "I am right here. I will take care of you." He stood, heaving himself from the ground with a huff. He offered McCree his hand once more. "Now, come, cowboy. Let us go home where it will be easier for me to shield you from danger."

* * *

McCree crashed on his sofa when the duo returned home. He crumpled like a pile of lifeless western themed laundry nursing the neck of a bottle of whiskey to his lips. He moaned, curling up with the bottle like a child hugging a teddy bear.

Hanzo felt badly for him. He'd been so wrapped up in his own head and with his own problems he had never been faced with an issue where he would need to consider another person's feelings. McCree was devastated, though, and it was obvious. Hanzo sympathized with that sort of absolute pain. He'd felt the same when he'd lost his brother to his own hand. McCree was discovering everything in his life was not as it seemed and, despite the wall that he'd wanted to keep between the two of them, Hanzo couldn't leave him in such a state. He was with Overwatch to make amends with his past sins. One way he could do such was offering the comfort that McCree so desperately needed. After all, the cowboy would most likely not remember any conversation they would have. He could be as gentle as was required and McCree would remember only that his mind had somehow been eased.

"Can I sit with you?" Hanzo asked the cowboy softly. He moaned, nodding sluggishly and shifting so Hanzo could take a seat on the couch. Cautiously he placed his head down slowly on the upper part of Hanzo's leg. He cuddled closer to the bottle. Hanzo brushed McCree's hair gently, combing the pads of his fingers lightly over the top of his slightly greasy brown hair. He chuckled. "You need a shower." McCree hummed what sounded like was supposed to be a laugh of his own.

"That an o-offer?" he answered, the slur in his voice taking any charismatic edge that could have been in the flirt. McCree grinned to himself like he didn't recognize that he was pretty much the opposite of smooth in his drunken state. Hanzo couldn't help but smile, more amused by his poor attempt at a come on than the come on itself.

He ignored it. Instead deciding to shift the conversation back to a more serious tone. McCree would never be able to heal if he didn't talk about the sadness that plagued him. Letting that kind of devastation stew in one's psyche was more harmful than blubbering like a baby. He just needed someone to talk to.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" He asked. McCree moaned, turning his face into Hanzo's pants like he was trying to shake his head 'no.' "You are hurting, McCree. If you wish to speak I am here to listen. If not then we can sit in silence." And they did sit in silence for minutes on end. Hanzo hadn't seen McCree be so mute before in the time of their acquaintance. However, he knew McCree, and he knew that he was an emotional man. Eventually he would speak up and speak out about his feelings.

Hanzo was correct because eventually McCree said, "I wish I could understand this all."

"I can relate to the shock of finding out someone believed to be dead was still alive. In my case, however, it was a happy discovery."

"How could I've not know Reyes was alive? I mean… Han… I saw his body in the coffin. He was…" he trailed off, leaving Hanzo to wonder what horrors the man's remains had been left in. An explosion can be quite damaging, after all. "He was _dead_. Gone and not coming back. I-I touched him. Skin was like ice, stiff and cold as cold can be." The cowboy was clenching his jaw. His reddened eyes were getting watery. "I cried over that bastard's body. I bawled over his grave. And… and he was alive all this time?"

"Perhaps there are things that happened that we cannot begin to understand?" Hanzo suggested. McCree shrugged as best he could in his position.

"Maybe," he grumbled. "Maybe. But if that's true then-then what happened to 'em. What did those sick fuckers do to him – whoever they are?" McCree dug his flat nails into Hanzo's leg. He buried his face further into Hanzo's pants, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Hanzo did not press him. He sat silently, continuing to lightly brush his hair.

Moonlight from the window behind them cascaded in, lighting the darkened room with a silver hue. The beams glinted off small tears that ran down McCree's right cheek, spilling across his tan face and disappearing somewhere Hanzo couldn't see. He had only seen McCree cry once before, and that one time he'd been glad to see the tears. He had been so angry with McCree that he believed he deserved all the pain in the world. That time was long past, however, and it was hard seeing a man who'd always been so carefree and lighthearted broken. It flipped his perspective around. He could always count on McCree being upbeat and confident. Seeing him like that he lost some of his sense of security.

McCree was clearly trying to hold himself together. Wrinkled lines highlighted his closed eyes, showing the effort to which he was going to try and keep the tears from coming out. Hanzo felt as if he was intruding watching him struggle. He turned his head, glancing out the widow that sat just above the sofa. He looked at the tall building that sat across the street. It made him nervous. Someone on the roof could see right into their apartment – they without blinds – it was a hazard.

"How could he join Talon?" McCree finally said after a moment. Hanzo's attention returned to the sobbing cowboy. He sniffled. "Talon was behind the deaths of two of his friends. He… he would've never… Reyes wouldn't have." McCree sighed, turning face up so he could look Hanzo in the eyes. Tears ran from both corners as his brown eyes glistened with sadness. "I don't understand, Hanzo," he admittedly, sadly.

"I do not either, Jesse. He said he wanted revenge."

"He should be wantin' revenge on Talon not Overwatch." He paused, holding his metal arm in the air and staring at it like it held the answers to his mentor's madness. He sighed, dropping his arm over his stomach and looking at Hanzo once more. "I feel like my knowledge of right and wrong has just been flip-flopped around. When-when he asked me to join Talon – to join him… for a split second I thought bout it, Hanzo. I thought 'yeah, if Reyes thinks it's the place to be maybe it is.'" He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his right hand. "I thought being under his command again made sense. It's familiar… But there ain't no justice in that terrorism. He's lost his way." He flipped, turning back on his side. He didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then he whispered, "I miss him, Hanzo. I miss Reyes. I was better off thinkin' he was dead. At least he had some honor in death, but now – now he's a low down no good fucking murderer. I don't know how to live with that knowledge."

"I understand. I felt the same way when Genji came to me. I was faced once more with all that I have done to shame myself. But my brother is alive, and I have a chance to repair what I have broken."

"You sayin' I should… try an' fix him?"

"I am saying that that whatever your commander is now he was once a good man – as I remember. Perhaps, you may be able to guide him back on the path of righteousness… as my brother," he paused, adding silently, "and you… are doing with me." McCree tossed back partially on his back so he could look Hanzo once more in the eyes. He smiled. It was very much welcomed by the archer. McCree was not a man meant for frowning.

"Aw shucks, darlin', gonna make me blush." Hanzo shook his head.

"Do not push it." McCree chuckled causing Hanzo to smile at him. After a second the moment faded, and both men returned to their grave attitudes. McCree looked away, but stayed laying with his head in Hanzo's lap.

"Han," he whispered, "you ever wonder what life'd be like if we'd stayed together back then? If I'd actually ditched Blackwatch and you'd told your dad to fuck off. If we'd just… left everything behind. You think things'd be better? Be normal like… all domestic and stuff? You ever imagine what'd it be like?" Hanzo looked down. It was a question he'd never answer to a sober McCree, but he knew that the cowboy would most likely never remember what he was about to say. He might as well get the truth off his chest even if it was just going to be lost to the wind.

"Every day," he whispered. McCree blinked in surprise.

"Yeah?" he gasped. Hanzo nodded.

"Yes."

"Whattaya see when you think bout it?" When Hanzo refused to indulge McCree in his romantic fantasies the cowboy went on, "Well, I think we'd be married. Dunno where'd we be livin'. Prolly back in 'merica. Somewhere in the south. Like… Texas or somethin'. I'd've given up the gang life – pick up something more practical than sharpshootin'. Think I'd like to be a mechanic or somethin' – have my own little shop near our house."

"I could imagine that fitting you well." Hanzo shrugged, pulling his fingers through McCree's brown hair dramatically. "You could change the oil in a car with the grease in your hair – at the very least." He chuckled at his own joke while McCree howled like it was the greatest thing he'd ever heard. Once he'd settled down Hanzo decided to indulge his delusion, "Tell me, what would I be in your little fantasy?" McCree chuckled.

"Well, my stay at home husband, of course."

"Would you like me to commit mariticide whilst you were sleeping?" he asked jokingly. "That seems what would likely happen if you wished to keep me cooped up in some suburban home." McCree laughed.

"Just kiddin' darlin'. Nah, you'd be something real smart ya know… like a… high school English teacher or somethin'." He smiled.

"English is not even my first language." McCree laughed.

"And ya still speak better than me. Nah, that's definitely _why_ you'd be an English teacher. I can just imagine you in a tight white button up shirt tucked into gray slacks, wearing thin framed glasses… You'd have all the girls and boys droolin' over ya, you know? The whole school's GPA would drop just cause none of the kids could focus on their work cause their too busy staring at you." Hanzo chuckled lightly.

"In that case: I do not believe I would be a very acceptable teacher."

"Sure ya would… the best." McCree's eyes probed his face, drawing in Hanzo to meet his gaze though he knew it wasn't such a good idea. Their dark stares lingered on each other. McCree slowly lifted his hand, cautiously caressing one finger over Hanzo's sharp cheekbone. Hanzo fought his urge to simultaneously pull away and lean into the touch. Instead, he closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment. "We'd have a kid in my lil' day dreams," McCree said after a moment. Hanzo looked at him.

"Yes?" McCree nodded.

"Yeah… a little girl we adopted. Real small and cute. You always did her hair in little pigtails." He smiled to himself, his gaze looking off blissfully. "You were the disciplinarian most of the time setting rules and stuff, but were never the one who'd actually get onto her. I'd yell at her if she did bad and she'd run to you crying and hug you. You'd just smirk all knowin', and pat her back. Then tell her it was okay and say not to do it again. I loved it so much." Suddenly, tears were leaking from his eyes once more.

"Jesse, please," Hanzo whispered.

"I messed everything up, Hanzo. Every possibility for it to come true. My life… has been a mess. First you, then Reyes… I've been alone for so long… it was just better that way. I've lived my whole life watching people I love leave me and fucking things up… Couldn't go through it again… I couldn't…."

He was mumbling, drunkenly repeating his sorrows over and over as he cried. Hanzo wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know if anything he could say would help. He would not tell McCree lies – that things would be ok. He did not know if things would work out in the end. The only thing he could do was pat his back and gently hum. Hanzo wasn't much for singing or expressing himself musically in anyway. The song, however, had stuck with him. He would hum it to himself in his darkest moments, using the tune of a good memory to calm himself. He _knew_ that it would relax McCree too.

Quietly, McCree stopped muttering nonsense. He quieted, turning his mouth into Hanzo's pant leg. He said in a muffled voice, "I love that song…" almost distantly as if he wasn't sure where it was coming from. Hanzo's brushed McCree's hair back gently.

"I know, Jesse. Go to sleep, now. You should feel better in the morning… once your inebriation has worn off."

"I wouldn't think you'd know a song like that… hmm… where'd you hear it?" He asked, liked he'd forgotten.

"From you, Jesse." He moaned.

"I love _you_ , Hanzo," his voice was distant, near sleep. Still, Hanzo's heart skipped a beat. He would have replied, said something, but he thought his voice may fail him. Instead, he stayed quiet, frozen in place like a statue chiseled from perfect ivory.

Somehow, he'd always known McCree still felt that way. He had hoped so deeply that he'd moved on – that this would not ever come up. Having hear him actually say it, though, it'd put so much in perspective. It was very likely that McCree would not remember anything that transpired when he awoke in the morning. Hanzo _would_ remember, though. He would never forget, and _that_ … gave him a lot to consider.

He'd always considered what he'd had with McCree to be like lighting he'd just managed to catch a glimpse of. It was hot, burning, and intense. However, short lived, leaving only a trace of light scarring on his vision – unable to unsee. He had never felt or wanted to feel that sort of wild phenomenon again. Was it right to want it to strike him twice? Or better yet… was is natural to attempt to capture the striking beauty in a bottle? Especially when shock could set him off course from his destination like a sailor turning towards a siren. If he gave into the song… he may never reach the shore and restore the honor he'd surrendered long ago.

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter is probably my favorite one yet. So much emotion. So many reveals. My eyes watered while writing this. It is the longest chapter yet. 10,000+ words. Not only is this the longest chapter for the this fic, but it's the longest chapter I've EVER written. Next chapter may cause the rating to be bumped up - just a warning - it WILL contain a bit of smut. However, I am unsure as to how much detail it will go into._

 _Again I would like to thank my wonderful "BETA" reader that always helps me with anything I need!_


	12. Chapter 12

Ch. 12

McCree's First Mission

Jesse McCree

McCree hadn't heard from Hanzo in over a week. Despite having given him his phone number, he'd never texted or called. McCree went to the noodle shop nearly every day to see if he'd show up, but he never did. His little brother never came to eat either. It was looking as if his mission had come to an end. Hanzo was either uninterested or suspicious, and was keeping away from where he'd ran into the cowboy twice.

Reyes was beginning to think that getting friendly with a yakuza member was becoming a waste of time. The other two were much more successful in their efforts to gather information. Williamson had been visiting a brothel run by the Shimadas – a task he surely enjoyed – and had started warming up with some of the prostitutes. Hasashi had begun the process of joining the gang. Reyes did his best to gather public knowledge about the group as well as any records he could lay his hand on. With McCree's own goals failing he'd been begrudgingly reassigned to help out with Reyes's general gathering of information.

To McCree the worst idea about it all was that he may not see Hanzo again. It was also an ego crusher being rejected like that. He told himself that he'd picked a tough nut that didn't want to be cracked. He simply wasn't interesting in making a friend – especially someone as rowdy and uncouth as McCree. Admittedly, he didn't blame him for being apathetic. McCree really wouldn't want to be his own friend if presented with a choice. Hanzo was reserved and sophisticated – the exact opposite of McCree. He understood.

That was until one day out of the blue when he received a message from an unknown number. It read, "McCree, it is Hanzo. I am at the noodle shop if you would like to meet."

That was an offer that McCree could never deny. He replied right away, most likely looking desperate, saying, "Cool. I'll be there."

When McCree arrived Hanzo was waiting in the spot where they had met. He was dressed in the same orange and white kimono that he commonly wore tucked into whatever those black pants were called. This time, however, he had a piece of armor strapped to his right arm. Diagonally across his back and horizontally above his butt were two sheathed swords. No one seemed to notice the weaponry or care, for that matter. He just sat there, sipping broth from a bowl and chatting nonchalantly with the shop worker in their native language. It was a little off putting to see him armed to teeth and ready for battle. McCree felt as if he was about to be ambushed. The small emergency hand gun he kept stuffed into his boot seemed suddenly very heavy. He forced a fake smile and clunked up to the young man like he wasn't trying to undermine the organization he belonged to.

"Howdy there, Hanzo, you're lookin' mighty ready for a fight," he said as casually as he could manage. However, it still came off as sounding a bit nervous. Hanzo glanced at him. He smiled slightly.

"Kon'nichiwa McCree-san," he said, ignoring the fight part. McCree blinked at him.

"That is the most Japanese thing you've ever said to me," he twanged. Hanzo chuckled. A deep warm "hmm hmm hmmm" of amusement.

"Right. Sometimes I forget that I am speaking with an American." He patted the stool beside him. McCree sat, trying not to bump either of the swords jutting out from his side. The one that was strapped to the broad part of his back was very large, and it made him a little flustered.

"What did ya call me… 'san?' Never heard ya call me that before. Don't y'all say that to everyone but friends. Does that mean I'm yer friend?" Hanzo shook his head.

"It is a sign of respect. The fact that I did not use it whilst addressing you shows the lack of said respect." That let the air out of McCree's ego.

"Ah. Well, way to burst my bubble." He smiled in realization as he added, "but since ya called me it now does that mean I'm growin' on ya?" Hanzo shook his head, rolling his eyes at the cowboy. He shrugged.

"Perhaps." McCree's grin grew.

"Welp, I ain't gonna complain. So long as we're getting somewhere."

"It would be impolite of me to ask you to dinner and not offer to buy you some. Would you like something, McCree-san?" McCree shrugged.

"Dunno… I'm not really hungry. Thanks though, Hanzo." He nodded, taking a bite of his food with chopsticks. They sat in silence for a couple minutes. Hanzo wasn't much of a talker, and McCree had no idea what to say to him. He was still waiting for an ambush, and if one wasn't coming then he was simply confused by the situation as a whole. "Han, uh… thanks for asking me to meet up with ya." He nodded stiffly, his eyes darting from one side of the shop to the other. "Not to be… rude an' all, but why exactly did ya invite me out?" Hanzo looked him in the eyes. His narrowed and then slipped back to the table. "You look like you're ready to fight. Are… are you in trouble or somethin'? I'm just kinda worried."

"Perhaps, I asked you here because I wanted to see you," he said distantly.

"Is that true?" McCree cocked his head, looking at the side of Hanzo's sharp face with concern. Eventually, his eyes flicked from their fixed position and met McCree's.

"Yes," he said. "I just had to find a good enough excuse to do so." He paused. "I am sorry, McCree."

"For what?" McCree reached out, placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. Hanzo seemed to lean into the touch. It seemed almost desperate, quick and forceful, as if he was deprived of physical affection. When he realized what he was doing he pulled away. He shook his head.

"I did not want to be alone today… Genji – my – my brother – is occupied… as he should be. I…"

"You don't gotta explain, darlin'…" His heart skipped a beat. He'd never called a man that before. "I understand wantin' company," he continued – hoping not to dwell on the pet name. Hanzo sighed, relieved about his go with the flow attitude, and seemingly not noticing what he'd said. "I'm right here." He relaxed, his body untensing and shoulders dropping. He took a mouth full of noodles.

"I thank you, McCree…"

"Anytime, Hanzo."

Hanzo and McCree stayed at the noodle shop for a little over an hour. The other patrons came and gone, but the two of them stayed planted in their seats, quietly chatting about nothing in particular. It was dreadfully boring, but McCree appreciated Hanzo's company in any form that it came.

Eventually they ended up leaving the noodle shop. It was getting late and the customers were beginning to thin out – leaving it nearly barren. Hanzo mentioned that he wanted to go see another movie and asked McCree to accompany him. He said that a movie was releasing tonight and that most of the youth of Hanamura would be there. Genji had apparently gotten tickets for himself and a girlfriend of his, but they'd broken up the night before. Genji had decided to go out with his guy friends instead. He'd given Hanzo the tickets.

"He told me to find myself a date," Hanzo muttered as they walked down the sidewalk towards the movie theater. He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Does that mean I'm your date?" McCree asked, smiling at his new friend teasingly.

"Hmph," was his reply.

The movie ended up being Japanese, and McCree couldn't understand a single word of it. There was no subtitles, of course, since the home audience could understand what they were saying. He followed best he could by watching the pictures, but was completely lost, still. Every once in a while, he'd ask Hanzo what was going on. Begrudgingly, he'd offer a short summary before returning focus on the screen. Eventually, McCree ended up falling asleep, totally bored by something incomprehensible to him.

He awoke to the feeling of being jostled around. Something soft wiggled beneath his right cheek. It was hard but padded with cloth, and oddly comfortable. Half-consciously he snuggled closer against it. He was just about to fall back asleep when his head was forcefully shoved. He jumped up, spinning towards whatever he had been sleeping on. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was, but upon seeing Hanzo's scowl he remembered.

"The movie is over," he said.

"Oh," McCree responded, scratching the back of his messy hair. "It is?" He looked around, seeing the other movie goers standing up and leaving the theater. Hanzo handed McCree his hat. "How much did I miss?" He asked, putting it back on his head. Hanzo shrugged, standing and gathering the swords that no one still seemed to care about.

"About a fourth." McCree stood as well. He rubbed his neck and followed Hanzo from the aisle.

"Sorry. I was really comfortable." Hanzo put his hand on his left shoulder.

"I could tell." Hanzo said nothing more, but as they exited the theater he looked around cautiously, taking in his surroundings. He'd been like that the whole time they'd been together: observant and alert. It seemed as if he was expecting someone or something to come out of the shadows. McCree wanted to ask, but he was afraid of offending Hanzo. He kept his mouth shut, and watched in quiet curiosity. As they exited the closing theater, following the large crowd McCree expected Hanzo to excuse himself. He speculated if he'd leave like last time, but instead his new friend stayed by his side, wondering down the street back the way they'd come. Instead, he turned to the cowboy and asked almost so quiet McCree could barely hear, "Would you escort me home?" He squinted.

"Huh?" he gasped, surprised by the question. "You want me to walk ya home?" Hanzo rolled his eyes, stepping a few steps away from him.

"If it is that big of a deal to you then…" he started to say in annoyance – though it came across to McCree as if he was trying to stop him from taking it the wrong way and save face.

"Hey, hey. Yeah… I'll take ya home – no problem," he said as casually as he could manage. "Where do ya live?" When he didn't answer McCree added, "Just lead the way. What kinda gentleman would I be if I just skipped out on my date before he got home safely, eh?" Hanzo snorted.

"I am not your date." McCree shrugged.

"If ya say so. I'm not the one with the swords though. Figure you could protect yourself well enough." Hanzo's hand reflexively grasped the smaller sword on the lower part of his back. He squeezed it, then released. "Didn't know you could just carry those things around in Japan. Back home people would be freakin and pullin' out their concealed guns." He jiggled his right foot, feeling his own gun.

"You cannot just carry them around. I…" he paused, "I have a permit that allows me to. Most citizens of Hanamura know me, and my swords."

"Hope they don't know them personally," McCree joked, chuckling about it, but Hanzo just stared ahead without amusement. "Well… I thought it was funny…"

The night was cool and relaxing as a gentle breeze brushed against McCree's skin. The streets were starting to fall quiet as people turned in for the night. Though neon still lit the distance, the circumference of the Shimada estates outer gate was dark, lit only by paper lanterns. McCree could only help but wonder if they hired someone to specifically light those as the sun fell. It made him nervous – being that close to the enemy. Sometimes he forgot that's exactly what Hanzo really was: an enemy.

"Thank you, Hanzo," he said quietly. The other man looked at him in question. He didn't have to ask why because McCree clarified, "I feel like an outcast here… I really appreciate you tryin' to be friends." He shrugged. "I dunno what's goin' on with you, but if ya need to get something off your chest," he paused accidentally to eyeball his chest. He wondered what he looked like shirtless. "Then I'll be here to listen… any time. You have my number." McCree smiled innocently, grinning ear to ear. Hanzo paused, lingering near the front gate of the estate. He hung his head, brushing his hair behind his ear. He seemed at a loss for words. In the shimmering flickers of light, the small bit of Hanzo's tattoo that McCree could see appeared to dance. He hadn't really looked at the marking very thoroughly before. It was covered both by his sleeve and his glove, and there was only a small bit of it that was readily visible. It looked like the middle of a dragon, and just that bit was majestic. It only made him wonder what the rest of it looked like and where it led to. He fought the urge to force back the sleeve and to see the rest.

"Why do you like me so much?" he finally asked. McCree cocked his head to the side. "You seem to pine after my companionship and I just do not understand why."

It seemed that Hanzo wasn't used to being liked. McCree felt that he almost went out of his way to assure he wasn't. Perhaps, he found it easier to be alone. McCree sighed.

"Cause you remind me of everything I'm not… You're controlled, clean, and smart as a whip. Sometimes I wish I was more like you… You're different – not like anyone I've ever met before." McCree paused. He leaned against the gate, his back pressing into the hard wall. "But at the same time I feel like maybe we're the same. You seem lonely – kinda like me – stuck in this foreign country with no friends in sight. 'Cept you live here, and don't got such a simple excuse. You rescued me from my foolishness cause deep down you're a good guy even if ya wanna act burdened by it all. Thing is, Hanzo, I don't really know ya that well. I don't really know why I'm rambling when I can see on your face that you've totally already decided imma dumbass. I could be wrong bout ya…" Hanzo's sharp features softened while his eyebrows knit in consideration. "But I don't think I am… you're just… kinda perfect like… everything about you… Wow… I am embarrassing myself. Is it hot out here?"

McCree, realizing that he'd said way too much began to squirm under Hanzo's unblinking scrutiny. He felt like he'd stepped onto a stage and started telling really bad knock-knock jokes. Right now, the crowd was staring in confusion, but pretty soon the tomatoes would come out. He fanned himself, trying to cool his reddening skin. Hanzo's piercing dark eyes drilled unrelentingly against McCree's face.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his left hand cupped the side of McCree's face. He brushed his soft, cool palm slowly against his skin, leaning forward towards the cowboy. For a second, McCree thought Hanzo might just kiss him. Instead, however, he put his lips near McCree's ear and whispered, "Thank you, McCree. You are a sweet, pathetic, fool, and I appreciate your company very much." He leaned away, releasing his grasp on McCree, and looked at the two large swirling dragons on the gate to their side. The sigil was menacing when McCree looked at it in the dark. It seemed like the two dragons were eating one another… each consuming its brother in a swirling infinity of betrayal. He shivered. "This is my home," Hanzo said quietly to McCree's surprise. "Thank you for taking me here. It can… get dangerous in Hanamura at night."

'Yeah, no kidding with the gangs an' all,' McCree thought about saying. Instead, he asked the foremost question on his mind, "You live… _here_?" He had to stop himself from asking about the yakuza. It was better to further gain his trust before probing for information. "I didn't even know this was a house… I thought it was some sorta community center or something," he lied, finding it a good strategy to play dumb. Hanzo chuckled, smiling at the cowboy.

"Foreigners are always impressed," he said.

"Well I most certainly _am_ … How d'ya afford a grand ol' place like this?" McCree pushed for some small piece of info.

"Uh…" he was at a loss for witty words, for once, "it is familial money. Inherited money passed down through generations. We… own businesses around town." Not exactly a lie, McCree decided. Hanzo stepped towards the gate. "I shall be going… Good night, McCree-san." He shoved open the large front gate a crack.

"Goodnight, Hanzo."

He peeked in, noticing a large gazebo thing with a huge bell across the large courtyard. There were two men standing on either side in black suits with guns. Hanzo slipped through the crack. He glanced at McCree, pulling his eyes away from the armed guards and into Hanzo's. He smiled, slightly, and slowly shut the gate behind him. McCree didn't linger for long. He was sure those guys had seen him, and he didn't want them coming out to see him loitering. That would instantly blow his cover. He started the hike back to his apartment, strolling down the emptied sidewalk with his hands in his jean pockets.

He couldn't help but think about Hanzo. He lived at the Shimada estate? Did most yakuza members do that? Did his little brother live there too? They were both so young, but then again so was he.

He wasn't quite sure how Japanese mobs worked. He was in a gang – sure – but the Deadlocks weren't as organized as the Shimada clan seemed. The Shimada's where led by a family while the Deadlocks were bossed around by this big, near 7-foot tall, scary bearded guy named Murlock. He had a couple almost as scary underlings who kept all the lawless in some semblance of order. The Deadlocks did what they wanted, so long as no one betrayed the gang. The Shimada's came across as very disciplined and totally organized – operating under a true hierarchy. McCree had very rarely come face to face with Murlock, and when he had it had been to get screamed at (one time punched in the face), but he got the feeling that he'd rather do the Texas two-step with him then even say hi to Shimada-gumi leader. With Murlock it was a punch in the face with the Shimada's it might be a knife in the back. Reyes had said that the Shimada's had been around for centuries, and were still going strong. It was a scary thought. They'd been around for two hundred years and Blackwatch thought they could take them down? They were a family of assassins… who was Overwatch trying to fool?

A family of assassin's.

That's when it occurred to him.

Was Hanzo a Shimada?

He'd never heard him say his last name… that would explain why…

In the distance, McCree barely noticed the dart of a shadow. He had been wrapped up in his head, walking on auto-pilot through an alley. He had paid no attention to his surroundings – not when his mind was on Hanzo. It was a mistake – one he knew better not to make. McCree was on the enemy's home ground, and he'd just dropped his defense. When he saw the shadow move unnaturally up the side of a building he'd went ragged.

"I'm in a city full of damn ninjas and I see a human scale a fucking building… No, that's not threatening at all," he muttered sarcastically to himself. His right hand dropped to his hip, attempting to grasp the handle of his peacekeeper. Instead, however, his palm grasped nothing but air. "Shit," he grumbled. He'd left it back at the apartment. He couldn't go walking around the street with a gun on his hip – not like Hanzo had walked around with a sword – anyway. McCree knelt down, slipping his fingers into his boot and fishing out the tiny handgun that held a single clip within. He stood, switching off the safety, and readying it. "C'mon out now… you ain't faster than a bullet…" He looked around, searching for the dark shadow amongst the night.

"No, but I am faster than _you,_ American," a sinister accented voice hissed into his ear. Before McCree could even process the cold edge of a blade was pressed under his chin, threatening to slice open his throat. McCree's breath hitched in his throat, unable to escape past the sword. "Clip out. Drop it on the ground," the voice ordered. McCree held his hands up into the air. He pressed the release, and the clip fell from his small gun onto the cement. "Drop the pistol, now. Toss it over there by the garbage." He obeyed, discarding the gun in defeat.

"Wattaya want? You with the Shimadas?" he asked, craning his head just a bit, but refraining when the edge began to bite into his skin. The assassin snorted.

"No," he growled, "we're not with _them_."

"We?"

"Look around you, American, tell me what you see." So, he did, glancing among the shadows and the rooftops. He saw the truth of the 'we' claim. More shadows spotted around the alleyway – reinforcements with swords and bows – ready to take him down if he managed to get past the one holding him still.

In simple terms: Jesse McCree was royally fucked.

"Alright. Y'all are not Shimadas? Then what do ya want? Who're are you, and why are ya targeting me?"

"We saw you with Hanzo Shimada. A convenient bit of back up… a distraction to keep us at bay. It was smart of him. He used you."

"Hanzo… is a… Shimada?" McCree asked, his newly arisen suspicions confirmed. His attacker laughed.

"You didn't even know?" he questioned. "He's not just a Shimada… he is the heir to the entire clan… Silly man, you are."

McCree felt shock – a numbness. He'd not only been getting cozy with a yakuza member – he'd been getting cozy with their boss's oldest son. He was in big trouble. If he managed to escape these… whoever they were, then Reyes would kill him. If Reyes didn't kill him then Hanzo would probably do him in. There was no winning anymore. What was he going to do?

'Alright, McCree, you got this. Right now just focus on surviving the next few minutes then you can worry about the next few hours,' he thought, trying to center himself into the moment.

"Alright so I'm chummy with the boss's son," McCree said like he hadn't just had the biggest surprise sprung on him, "so what?"

"It's simple… you're either going to give us information or become bait. If you fail at both… then we're going to kill you." The sword on his neck pressed closer, cutting into the top layer of his skin slightly, blood dripped from the blade. McCree snorted.

"You're barkin' up the wrong tree, buddy. Hanzo and I ain't even really friends. He ain't gonna leave the safety of his gang to come chase down some poor foreigner like me."

"That is a stupid thing to say. You're taking away any usefulness."

"Look, I dunno why you want to take out the Shimadas, but…" he was about to spew his guts out about Blackwatch. He was going to tell them everything, but one of the shadows who'd been perched on the edge of an overlooking building just dropped. His body went limp and he hit the ground out of nowhere. The assassin did not notice. The other sniper did, but he was taken out shortly after. McCree snapped his mouth shut quick. He smirked. "But I'm about to get free so it ain't really gonna matter."

"What are you talking about?!" the man demanded. The pressure on his neck tensed. McCree tilted his head back further in attempt to stop his throat from being cut just out of accident.

"Yep," he croaked. "Right about…." He paused, trying to time it right for maximum badassness, "now." Nothing happened. The man cackled in McCree's ear.

"Are you trying to trick me, American?! As you can see I am a little harder to fool than –..." his voice degraded into wordless gasping and gargling. The strength on the sword lessened. "What…" he tried to say, but it was barely audible through the sound of him dying. McCree grabbed his arm and shoved the sword away from him. He jumped away and spun around to look at the scene that had been taking place behind him.

"Now!" he shouted at the dying man. "Now! I called it, see!"

"You are an idiot," Hanzo hissed, shoving McCree's attacker to the side. He fell to the ground, his throat ironically slit, gargling as he died. Hanzo's smaller sword was coated in blood, grasped tightly in his left hand and glistening crimson. McCree smiled at him, a big toothy and completely happy smile. He was overjoyed to be proven wrong.

"Han!" he shouted. "You… came for me?!" McCree couldn't help himself. Completely disregarding both the sharp pointy weapons and the angry man wielding it, he threw himself at Hanzo and wrapped his arms tight around the smaller man's neck. He shoved him against his chest, holding him hard in a gleeful hug. "Thank you," he twanged into the top of Hanzo's soft hair. He smelt good… like a bed of flowers that McCree inexplicably wanted to roll around in. Hanzo didn't react at first, he stood tensed in McCree's grasp acting unsure as to what to do.

"You are… welcome," he finally whispered into McCree's chest, his right arm slowly folding around the larger man's back. For a moment both men gave into each other, relaxing in one another's embrace. McCree hadn't seen Hanzo that serene before, and they both forgot that they were still in danger.

That was until Hanzo shoved McCree hard away from him. The force of the shove caused him to hit the ground hard. He was about to yell, 'What the hell?' but didn't have time before Hanzo's intentions were made clear. The swordsman spun around, deflecting an arrow that had been launched at his head with his sword. The tip clinked against the steel and flew off to the side, hitting the concrete and snapping under the force of the shot. He flipped the sword, spinning it in his hand as he made eye contact with the archer's shadow who was perched up above. There was a moment where both assassins tried to intimidate each other, staring down one another trying to convince the other to back down. The shadow quickly drew his bow, but before he could nock an arrow Hanzo snatched a knife from his belt and threw it at him. McCree couldn't see the knife hit the assassin. He just saw him sway back and then hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Hanzo grabbed McCree's forearm urgently. He tugged on him, attempting to pull him to his feet.

"We must go. There are more," he said. He pulled McCree harder. "Come." McCree used Hanzo's weight to pull himself onto his feet. In the distance, more shadows were shifting around, darting against the darkness.

"We're fucked," McCree muttered.

"Not if we move! Come on!" Hanzo darted off towards the end of the alley, but McCree lingered. He snatched his guns clip from the ground, shoving it in the pocket of his jeans, and back tracked to the garbage can where his pistol had fallen. He grabbed it and spun, darting after Hanzo who was already yards ahead of him.

He was very aware of the assassin's flocking around them. One dropped from a building, landing shortly behind him. He wasn't sure what to do aside from just pushing himself forward. They just had to get out of the alley.

Sharp pain reverberated against McCree's ankle like something blunt had hit him. The sensation wrapped around over to his second ankle and then back again. His stride had been halted, jerked in place by some restraint. His feet were bound together quickly and suddenly, and it was like they were being yanked out from under him. He lost all balance, the upper part of his body forced forward by his momentum. He teetered forward, crashing hard onto the cement ground. He barely managed to save his face from being smashed open by reflexively stopping his fall with the palms of his hands. He could feel the skin on his hands rip painfully as the ground tore into him.

"Hanzo!" he yelled out in panic. He hadn't meant too. His brain told him to let Hanzo run from the danger, but his reflex was to call for his assistance.

He flipped around in an attempt to free his feet from whatever had toppled him. The ninja who'd jumped down near him and apparently swung a chain around his feet, causing them to get tangled together. He pulled at this cylindrical weight looking thing, trying to unwrap himself as quickly as he could. However, the weight wouldn't budge. No matter how hard he pulled he got nowhere. It was as if the weight was adhered to the rest of the chain.

"Shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshit" he griped, trying desperately to free his legs. A chuckle caught his attention, coming from someone who was looming just above him. McCree looked up. The guy who stood over him was a large, toned, bald man who was grinning cockily. He said something to him in Japanese. "I can't understand y…" he started to say, but the man just punched him hard in the face. McCree doubled over, grasping his nose in pain. "Ah, mother fucker!" he exclaimed. He lurched his gaze upwards, folding his hand into a tight fist. He swung, aiming a punch at the guys face. Before his knuckle could connect the same sharp feeling that he'd felt when the chain had tripped him exploded through his hand. This time it was worse, due to the fact that his hands were unprotected. The force of the chain being wrapped around his arm knocked him to the side, but the assassin, who was still holding the other end, yanked him back to the other side. He was pulled on the ground, and kicked forcefully in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, and McCree coughed. He gasped, trying to catch his breath. "How many of those fuckin' things do you have?!" he coughed, referencing the chain that was now holding his right-hand hostage. The guy just made a grunting noise and kicked him repeatedly. McCree attempted to force his bound feet between his aching stomach and the attacker. He caught the man's foot and pushed him back which permitted him to sit somewhat just in time for a sword to be pressed into his cheek. The man spoke in Japanese once more. "I dunno what you're saying," McCree breathily reminded him. He pressed the tip of the blade harder into his skin. For the second time in minutes blood was drawn and trickled down his jaw.

The sharp clink of steel on steel shattered the air. The sword that had been threatening McCree was slapped away. Hanzo leapt over McCree, landing between he and the other assassin. His larger sword – a katana – McCree believed – was drawn, cupped between both his hands. He held it in the air, parallel to his face, ready to strike. He said something to the assassin in Japanese prior to glancing at the cowboy. "Move back," he ordered in a voice that could command an army. McCree obeyed, snapping to attention at the intensity in his tone. He forced himself backwards, pushing further away as best he could. The other shadows were moving in on them, becoming visible ninjas. There were numerous amounts of them. McCree had no idea how Hanzo was going to take them all on by himself.

The assassin said something McCree couldn't understand to Hanzo before swinging his sword at his face. Hanzo moved his katana, blocking the man's attack. He forced the blade's point towards the ground. It hit the cement with a sharp noise. Hanzo jumped forward, kicking the man in the stomach and causing him to stumble away. The other assassin barely had a moment to regain his balance before Hanzo dashed forward. It was a speed McCree had never seen before. He could barely process it and apparently neither could the assassin because he just stared at the spot Hanzo _had_ been. The next thing he knew Hanzo was standing on the other side of him, and his blade dripped blood. The assassin looked down at his stomach. A large slice had been taken out of his side. McCree could almost see through him. He hit the ground.

The other assassins were moving in, circling around Hanzo, surrounding him and blocking any retreat. He was severely outnumbered: five swordsmen to one. Hanzo didn't back down. He squared his shoulders, flipping his katana through the air. He seemed completely unafraid, his face a mask of concentration. He said something to one of them in Japanese. The assassin replied in tongue. The men pushed forward, closing in on Hanzo.

McCree resigned himself to watching in horror. In contrast to his friend he was completely shut down – locked in the uncertainty of the moment with the feeling of hopelessness. He was completely bound, and unable to help Hanzo in any way. He pulled at the chain that was stuck on his right hand, pulling urgently to undo his restraints.

The center ninja, who Hanzo had addressed, said something once again. McCree heard nothing but nonsense, however he could pick out "Shimada." His tone was threatening, deep and quickly spouted. He swung his hand horizontally in frustration. Hanzo responded in the language. He shook his head. The ninja motioned to McCree, continuing the dialogue. Hanzo spun and looked at the cowboy with concern, his thick eyebrows knitted. He quickly looked back at his opponent, and yelled Japanese words at him. He pointed the tip of his sword at the man. His stoic eyes fell on McCree for another brief second. He shook his head, growling an unintelligible threat.

McCree's focus was on Hanzo and the five men circling him. The two were still arguing, but it was clear that the others were getting into position. Up above, on the ledge of the building, McCree saw, out of the corner of his eye, another shadow. He looked up, seeing that it was another ninja. This one had a bow drawn, and pointed right at Hanzo. They were distracting him in an attempt to take him out without an actual fight.

"Hanzo!" McCree screamed. "Hanzo! On the roof! Look out!" He lurched forward, trying to push himself onto the heels of his feet. Instead, he lost his balance and collapsed on the ground. The archer reacted to McCree's screaming and shot the arrow at Hanzo in an attempt to take him out before he realized what was going on. Luckily, Hanzo noticed the archer. He leapt back, swinging his sword forward. The arrow hit the brunt of the sword, and deflected off of it, launching towards the ninja on the furthest right. It lodged in the man's throat and he crumpled onto the ground. Hanzo didn't even give the fresh kill a second glance. He pulled another throwing knife from his belt, and tossed it at the man overlooking the conflict. The edge struck him, causing him to rock forward and topple off the rooftop. He hit the ground with a grotesque splat that McCree didn't wish to look at. He could only stare at Hanzo in astonishment. That man had killed two others in rapid succession and hadn't even blinked. He just stood there, his sword raised, his shoulders flat and his head held high. He was beautiful.

That was when hell broke loose. All the other assassin's rushed Hanzo at once, swords drawn, and barreling down upon him. He dropped under one blade, swung at an attempt to hit him in the side. He bent backwards, the sharp edge brushing just past his face, but used the position to catch one ninja's leg with his own. He pulled it out from under him, knocking the man to the ground. He came back up, pushing one sword away with his katana and catching another with his smaller sword. The third man tried to stab him, seeing both his hands occupied, but Hanzo managed to redraw his smaller sword – McCree later learned was called a wakizashi – in order to knock the blow away. He quickly sheathed the tinier blade, taking his katana in both hands and forcing the last ninja away from him. He swung back around, flipping the blade around, cutting a man across his chest. He recoiled, moving momentarily from the battle, and allowing Hanzo to focus on the other two assassins. The grounded one pushed himself back up, preparing to attack him from the back.

"Hey!" McCree screamed out, catching all four men's attentions.

Hanzo reacted quickly enough to stop the flank attack, moving quickly under a strike and dashing away from the horde. Three of the men followed, rushing after him. The fourth man, however, lingered, having noticed McCree due to his outburst. He broke off from the main fight, stomping towards the restrained cowboy. McCree blinked. He was lightly panicking, totally unsure what he was going to do.

"Uhhh… actually… I think I'm late for a dentist appointment…" he murmured, trying to escape by sliding with his hands and pushing with his bound feet. He looked like an itchy dog sliding along the ground on his butt. He wondered if that's how beached mermaids felt. He could imagine Hanzo would make a beautiful merman. The ninja didn't seem to care about his tardy dentist appointment because he yelled at him in Japanese, pointing his sword at the fleeing man.

"Move not," the man worked out in a very thick accent. McCree hesitated in his retreat for only a second.

"Or what?" McCree challenged while shaking his head. "You'll stab me? Look, buddy, I've been through a lot of shit today. I ardy been held hostage once – don't think imma be a damsel in distress a second time." He resumed his half-assed, slow, mermaid departure. The man shouted again in Japanese, but McCree elected to ignore whatever it was he couldn't understand. Instead, he continued his scooting, paying more attention to trying not to back into anything than the man threatening him with a sword. Deep inside he was scared shitless, but he figured total indifference would throw the man off – make him sloppy. It was a tactic he could only pray would work out.

The assassin grunted, forcing his foot down onto McCree's leg to stop him. He turned, looking up at him with anxiety. The ninja reared his sword back, drawing it in preparation for a strike. There was literally nothing McCree could do to stop him. He just turned his head, not wanting to watch his own death. The assassin swung his sword, aiming to strike McCree through his throat. It was a reflex of his, to hold his right hand up to stop it. He fully expected to feel the sharp blade to cut right through his fingers, before it sliced a vital part of him. That sensation never came. For a second, McCree wondered if he'd died fast enough that he never even felt it. He could still feel the stinging in both of his hands from where he'd hit the concrete, however. He was still aware of the air filling his lungs. He looked, snapping his head over to his attacker. The blade had been stopped by the chain wound around his fist. The ninja, seeing the unintentional block, withdrew his sword. He wound it up for another attack. He swung it again, aiming for his face. McCree focused this time, intentionally raising his wrapped right hand up to block the attack. This time, when the blade was stopped with a clink by the metal chain, McCree forced it down on the ground. He rolled, pushing all his weight into his hand as he shoved the blade to the concrete ground. He pinned it there, between the chain and the floor. He used the momentum of the roll to kick back his weighted legs. He shoved them back at the assassin, kicking him in the stomach and causing him to entirely lose his grasp on his weapon. McCree fell onto his knees, quickly flipping off the blade and snatching the hilt with his free left hand. The balance of his weight on the blade in the angle that he'd fallen had caused the tip of the blade to snap. What remained of the sword was fractured and jagged, but still deadly. McCree didn't exactly know _how_ to use one, but he could improvise. The assassin pulled another sword, a smaller one like Hanzo carried. He pushed back forward towards McCree, an angry look in his eyes. He swung, but McCree – again – blocked it with his chained right hand. He forced the blow away, and jabbed with his broken blade. The assassin had seemingly not been expecting such an attack because he didn't even dodge. The sword piece punctured his gut. He reeled back, trying to move away from the attack, but the reaction ended up making the sword slice across the center of his stomach essentially disemboweling himself. He stumbled, falling back to the ground gasping.

McCree had never done anything like that before. He'd never used a sword, impaled a man, and then sliced him open. The whole process unsettled him, but he would never let it distract him from what was still going on.

Hanzo was still trying to hold off the remaining three assassins. Their swords were moving so fast, clashing together, that McCree could barely see anything but silver blurs. Hanzo moved with so much grace and flexibility. He dodged swords, kicks, and grapples. His movement flowed like water rushing down a river bed – forceful yet beautiful and majestic. McCree was almost hypnotized by his exquisiteness. He may have just stared forever if Hanzo hadn't screamed out in pain. He didn't pause in his battle, but McCree was snapped out of his daze. He _had_ to do something. He _had_ to help Hanzo.

His gun. He'd had a gun, but he had dropped it when he was tripped. He felt his pocket. The magazine was still there. He couldn't remember where the pistol had tumbled to when he'd fallen. It couldn't have been far. He looked around the area quickly, trying to find the gun's location.

Off in the distance, about ten feet away from McCree, he saw it. It was lying beside a damp box. He began scooting towards it as quickly as he could manage. It was a difficult task with his limited range of movement, but he was determined. He pulled himself back with his arms and then pushed with his bound feet.

When he finally reached the gun he quickly fished the mag from his pocket. He stuck it between his knees, holding it upright. McCree took the gun and shoved it down onto the clip, pushing it inside the weapon. It clicked into place, ready for use. McCree held the gun tight in his left hand. It felt weird. He was right handed, but his right hand was a bit occupied at the moment being wrapped in an unremovable chain. He wasn't quite sure how good of a shot he would be with his non-dominant hand. He only had six bullets in the magazine, however, so there wasn't a lot of room for error if he wanted to actually be helpful.

McCree took a deep breath, inhaling through his mouth and holding it. He pointed the gun up, pointing it at the back of the assassin that was closest to him. They were moving around, darting about and jostling as their swords clashed. It would be very easy with an unreliable aim for McCree to accidentally hit Hanzo. He was a good shot, but his left hand wasn't exactly useful. It couldn't do anything, but occasionally assist the right. If it were to be suddenly cut off McCree would probably not even miss it. He was scared that if the assassin managed to move just right at the wrong time that Hanzo would be the victim of the shot. Knowing this, McCree took aim at a broader part of the man's body. Normally, he would aim for the head, but this time he wasn't as confident in his skill. Slowly, he exhaled through his nose. It was a breathing exercise he'd learned back when he was first beginning shooting. As the air escaped his lungs he pulled the trigger.

The assassin screamed out, reeling in intense pain. He dropped his sword on the ground, spinning to face McCree so that he could see the person who had shot him. McCree, still aiming at the man's torso, fired another shot. The bullet hit him dead in the center of the chest. He buckled under the shot, hitting the ground.

The other two assassins didn't seem to notice their companion hit the ground and neither did Hanzo. They just continued their dance of swords, clinking, blocking, striking. It was exhausting McCree, trying to keep up with everything that was going on. They were moving quickly – too quickly. McCree didn't want to risk it. He hesitated, waiting for a chance to fire. He hoped that Hanzo understood what was going on, and would try to angle his opponent accordingly. McCree tightened the grip on the pistol. He took another breath, trying to steady his shaking aim. Hanzo shoved one of the ninja's away from him, pushing him back. He stumbled, recoiling. He jumped forward, attempting to spring back into the action. However, he was stopped by a bullet to his lower back – er – butt. He yowled, flinching. Hanzo's sword pushed back the remaining full health assassin. He spun, swinging his katana horizontally, slicing through the wounded assassin's neck, decapitating him. Hanzo was back facing the remaining ninja before he could even move forward on another attack.

Now it was just a one on one: Hanzo versus the last remaining assassin. They were moving too fast for McCree to get an assured shot, and Hanzo wasn't trying to move him into a position where he could help. He lowered the gun. The two men's swords continued to be locked in fast paced combat. It didn't last long, however. Hanzo had been holding off multiple swordsman, and now that he only had one to focus on things became a lot simpler. He managed to disarm him, knocking the assassin's katana to the ground. The defenseless ninja back-stepped, attempting to flee from Hanzo's blade. Unsuccessful in his attempt, he was impaled by the katana, ran all the way through his stomach. Hanzo pulled the blade back and the body collapsed.

Hanzo stood there – surrounded by lifeless bodies. His raven hair had fallen from its bindings, and was hanging raggedly in a frame around his face. His kimono had come lose, the belt unraveling from the combat. It hung open slightly, exposing more of his pale, smooth chest than McCree was used to seeing. Blood soaked him, staining him in crimson splashes from head to toe. His expression was reserved, eyes closed, face stone. He clenched his sword in a fist so tight his knuckles were turning white. The sight of him was simultaneously beautiful like a statue chiseled to depict humanly perfection, and miserable like a child surrounded by dying parents.

For a moment, McCree thought Hanzo's silence may be him praying or something. He'd done that in the past… when he was younger after making kills. Eventually, he decided that God wasn't going to help him, and stopped.

"Uh… Hanzo," McCree muttered. He didn't budge. "What are you…"

"I am surrounded by death. A moment of silence is all I ask," he muttered.

"Sorry," he was quiet for a moment then said, "They tried to kill us they don't deserve you to mourn them…"

"I am not mourning _them._ I am simply reflecting."

McCree had become desensitized to death such a long time ago. The man he spent most of his time with was a grizzled war veteran. It was just strange to him to see someone who hadn't been tainted by years of vicious murder. He had been conditioned to not blink at genocide, so in Hanzo's hesitation McCree saw the true purity of his soul. He may have acted confident and apathetic, however, deep down it was clear just how much he really cared. All that skill and yet he still flinched when he had to put it to use.

"Hanzo," McCree said gently, sympathetically, "you look like ya really needa hug. Now, I'd gladly oblige, but Imma little tied up at the moment." He wiggled his chains, causing them to jingle for reference while chuckling at his own pun. Hanzo opened one silver eye, examining the restrained cowboy. He sighed, turning away from the bodies of the assassins he had put down. He pulled a rag from his belt and ran it along the length of his blade, cleaning the blood from the perfect Japanese steel. He slipped his katana back into the sheath across his back.

"You are ridiculous, McCree-san," Hanzo muttered. He paced over to the man who had thrown those chains at him in the first place. He began to rummage through the corpse's belongings.

"Now's not the time for lootin'. Can ya at least let me go first?" Hanzo shook his head.

"I am not… _looting_ ," he said the word as if it was foreign to him. Perhaps, he didn't know what it exactly meant. "I am searching for the key."

"The key? For these?" McCree shook his chains. Hanzo nodded in affirmation. "What are these… things anyway? Never been lassoed by a chain with a mind of its own."

"It is a manriki-gusari – it is a weapon as old as any of the others you saw the assassin's use. However, this has some… 21st century embellishments. It is magnetic, for starters, designed to adhere to itself. The weight locks to the chain so that the target will be unable to free himself." Hanzo found what he'd been looking for on the corpse. He approached McCree holding a small metal rectangle thing with notches on each side. He knelt in front of McCree. "The ninja has a key to demagnetize it." He touched it to the weight, causing the oblong piece of metal to fall to the ground with a thunk.

"Damn, you're like a walkin' encyclopedia." Hanzo chuckled, touching the key to the chain wrapped around McCree's hand. He helped the cowboy unwind it before stepping back to give McCree room to get his feet free. "Ah, my hand is plain crampin'. Fuck that shit." He shoved it away from him in spite.

"You are an impressive shot," Hanzo said, examining him. McCree scratched the back of his head with not-aching-hand.

"Yeah… it's a… long story." Hanzo sighed.

"It seems we have a lot to talk about." He held his hand out to McCree. McCree accepted to gesture, wrapping his left hand around Hanzo's. He tugged, lifting the cowboy to his feet in what would normally be an uncomfortable closeness. McCree didn't mind it though. The proximity made his heart race. It was Hanzo who took a single step backwards. "I find that I must apologize to you," he said, quietly. He turned his head to the side, not wanting to look McCree in the eyes. "I put you in danger. I am sorry. I have a lot of explaining to do."

"I'm listenin', Han." Hanzo sighed. He spun around pacing slightly away then turned and came back.

"How much do you know?" he asked.

"I know about the Shimada clan, and that you're the son of their leader… the oldest…"

"You knew?"

"Only because the dude who was holding the knife to my throat told me. I also know that they were tryin' to bait you out by usin' me." McCree sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And I kinda got the impression' that _you've_ also used me." Hanzo shook his head.

"You must understand… it was nothing personal… I just…" Hanzo looked up, staring into McCree's eyes. "I was attempting to allure them away from my brother. He is a foolish child." He shook his head in frustration, resuming his pacing. "Those assassins are a member of a rival yakuza: one that my father provoked. In return, they began targeting Genji and myself. Father ordered Genji to stay home until he was able to nullify them. He never listens. Instead of obeying our father's order, he went out with his friends. I am unsure as to where, so I could not go hunt him down and bring him back. I knew they would target him, so I made myself a target. I wanted them to focus on me, but not exactly attack me. That is why I invited you. I asked you out with me because I knew they would hesitate striking if I was with someone. Inadvertently, they came after you." Hanzo hung his head. McCree looked at him with sympathy. He understood wanting to protect one's family, and he could not fault him for his actions.

"Is Genji okay?" McCree asked, causing Hanzo to look at him in confusion. Clearly, that was not the reaction he was expecting. He nodded.

"Yes," he answered with uncertainty, "he was home when I returned. Father did not even realize he had left. If he were to make the discovery that he had, I would be the one punished."

"That's not fair…" Hanzo shook his head.

"I am the elder. He is my responsibility. Hmph. If he realizes I was in a battle with our rivals I will undoubtedly be questioned. If he learns about you, or realizes I was out because of Genji…"

"More punishment?" Hanzo nodded.

"McCree, I deeply regret that I…"

"Hanzo," McCree muttered, "you're bleeding." Hanzo paused, looking down at himself.

"No, the blood is not mine."

"No, no, look…" McCree gestured to a large rip in the right pectoral section of Hanzo's kimono. Through the cloth a big red line ran across his skin. Hanzo squinted. He muttered something distastefully in Japanese. It was a curse, McCree assumed.

"That bastard got me," he huffed.

"I heard you scream. Does it hurt?"

"No." McCree crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.

"Now don't lie. It's gotta sting at the very least." He reached forward, trying to pull his kimono away so that McCree could take a look at the wound's severity. Hanzo stepped back defensively. He turned sideways so he could fend him off. "Han, let me look at it."

"It is fine. It is but a scratch – nothing severe." He raised his eyebrow looking at him with what looked like fear.

"That's not true, and ya know it. Just let me see how deep it is." Hanzo shook his head, moving back further from McCree. "Hanzo, dammit, _just let me see_. Please, I just want to help." Hanzo paused. He sighed, looking at McCree cautiously.

"Fine." He straightened his spine, dropping his hands to his sides.

McCree cautiously pulled the kimono back from Hanzo's skin. It was sopping wet with blood that had soaked from the wound onto the cloth and stuck it to him. McCree examined the wound carefully. It was long, and clean. The blade had cut deep, but not through muscle. Hanzo would be alright.

"Cuts not too deep. Ya ain't gonna really need a doctor, but ya ain't gonna want to leave it be either. Let me take you to a hospital." Hanzo stepped from his grasp, pulling his kimono closed tightly. He hugged himself.

"No hospital," he snapped. "My father will not find out about this. If I go see medical assistance there is no way I will be able to keep this from him."

"Hanzo, you can't just stroll in there like nothin' happened when you have a huge chest wound." McCree tried to soothingly touch his shoulder, but he moved away from him. "Please just… just let me doctor it for you. Let me clean it and bandage it. I just don't want it gettin' infected." Hanzo shook his head. "Han, if it gets infected you're gonna gave to go to the hospital anyway. There ain't gonna be no hidin' it from ya dad then. Worse you could die." He didn't say anything. "Look, I can fix ya up or you can let it fester. Just… I don't want nothin' happenin' to you." McCree touched his shoulder, gently but quickly before Hanzo could move away. "Don't be… don't be foolish." Hanzo smirked, shaking his head slightly. He looked McCree in the eyes.

"Alright… yes… Let us go somewhere less… polluted with death. I have a location in mind." He waved for McCree to follow, and started down the alleyway while holding his side

* * *

A/N: Well, this part of the chapter ended up being a lot longer than I expected. Because of that the planned chapter has been split into two. Next chapter will consist of what was meant to be the rest of it.

Thanks for all follows and reviews! Remember, each is super appreciated.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: This chapter is the one that is going to force me to bump up the rating. It is now an M rating. This chapter contains smut, so if that's something you're sensitive to then you may want to skip this chapter. For the most part it's clean - there's just one section towards the bottom that gets a little racey. Discretion is advised._

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Ch. 13

McCree's First Mission

Jesse McCree

Darkness enveloped the small building McCree and Hanzo were squatting in. They had to sit by a window, straining to see in the silvery moon light. It was a bar, Hanzo had said, one that belonged to the yakuza that had targeted them. It had been what started the rivalry between them and the Shimada's. Hanamura was theirs, and this other group was intruding by seizing the property. Hanzo hadn't said how, but somehow it didn't matter. The Shimada's had cleared it out of yakuza and patrons alike, McCree suspected. Now, it was just an abandoned two-story building snuggled between a sushi place and some apartments. It was also a safe haven for the injured men.

Hanzo sat in a wooden illuminated by the moon. He was hunched over, holding his stomach. McCree knelt in front of him, placing the items he had gathered on the floor. He looked at his new friend with concern.

"Got some alcohol to sterilize the wound," he said. "Or to drink… whichever you want." Hanzo chuckled – it was grunting and strained. It probably hurt him to laugh.

"Both," he muttered. McCree chuckled, handing Hanzo the bottle, who took a drink. He sighed.

"Looks like it hurts," McCree observed.

"I have had worse," Hanzo replied, turning his head away and avoiding McCree's gaze.

"You don't gotta be so strong all the time, darlin'," McCree whispered. "I'm not your little brother. You don't gotta put on a brave face for me." Hanzo nodded – straight faced and stern. The muscles in his neck tensed and he visibly swallowed hard. McCree decided it best to not attempt to further disarm that beautiful bomb. He looked down at his bloody kimono. He gulped. "Um… Han, imma… imma need you to uhh…" he stuttered, made nervous by the fear that Hanzo may slap him just for suggesting. His new friend looked at him in questions, his eyebrows pulled together as he tried to make sense of what McCree was going on about. McCree motioned to his own shirt, pulling at the fabric over his right pec. "Ya know," he murmured. Hanzo looked down at himself.

"Oh," he whispered. He hesitated. His fingers grasped the edge of his kimono, fingering the cloth thoughtfully. "Of course." He pulled the it away, slipping the edge of the kimono down his shoulder. The material hung around his arm leaving the right side of his chest bare. His pale skin shimmered in the light. McCree couldn't take his eyes of the gentle curves of his defined muscles. Over his shoulder, down to his bicep, and then across to Hanzo's breast. He bit his lip. He didn't want to stare to long, but Hanzo was just… "McCree?" his voice called, bringing him out of his trance. He glanced up at his face only to be caught off guard by how beautiful he looked hugged by a halo of moonlight. "Is something wrong?" McCree furiously shook his head. His eyes returned to Hanzo's chest, but focused on the bloody slit that tore his otherwise flawless skin.

"No, naw, I was just… studying you – it, IT – is all," he stammered. "I was… examining the wound." He took a slug of the alcohol that he clutched tightly in his fist before turning it over onto his rag. He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the task at hand. "Now, uh, this is gonna sting a bit."

"I am certain I can take it." McCree chuckled.

"I'm pretty confident you can too. You're a tough bastard." Hanzo smiled to himself, and looked away from McCree.

Slowly, McCree dabbed at the edge of the wound. He was trying to be careful. He didn't want to hurt Hanzo. Still, the assassin flinched at what was most likely stinging that the alcohol against the open wound caused. He didn't say a thing, however, or even make a noise. He did clench his jaw, gritting his teeth as McCree ran the soaked rag along his cut. The white cloth began to turn red from the blood that soaked into it. Hanzo was still bleeding badly. He needed to sterilize it quickly, so that he could wrap the wound and stop the blood flow. It was a delicate process.

"Where did you learn that?" Hanzo asked. McCree was glad for the conversation. The silence had grown awkward.

"It's not an impressive skill… just picked it up," he said, shrugging as he tried extra hard to not stare at Hanzo's chest. "Pretty simple, really."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I meant what you did back there with your gun."

"Oh." McCree's stomach twisted. He had to make a decision about how much he was going to tell him. He couldn't give himself or Blackwatch away, but he couldn't lie either. Hanzo was very obviously a bright man. He seemed to read people well, and he would for sure call him out on it if he suspected an untruth.

"It's a long story," he murmured, focusing on doctoring. Hanzo shrugged, causing his beautiful shoulder muscles to tense.

"I have nothing but time." His words were like silk to McCree's ears. He sighed, taking another drink from the booze he'd found left behind.

"Don't wanna bore you with my life story." He shook his head. "Don't wanna ramble."

"I do not mind." That made McCree smile. He'd gotten the impression that his tendency to talk his ear off was rather boring to Hanzo. He couldn't fight the half smirk that tugged the left side of his lip.

"Alright then, Han. I taught myself… at first."

"Did you start or your own or did someone… encourage you?" The way he'd worded his question was strange. He shrugged.

"On my own." He sighed. "First off, it was something I did for fun. Ya know, a pass time. I'd been goin' through my ma's drawers – can't remember what I was lookin' for – and came across this revolver. She was a beauty," he mused, his memory turning over the gun in his mind. "Shiny silver with a wood plated handle. The underneath had a word engraved… 'Peacekeeper.'" He smiled. Hanzo looked at him in question, as if he was attempting to understand the obsession with a gun. At the same time, his right hand snaked out and caressed the hilt of his katana that was leaning against the wall next to him. He said nothing. "Ma told me it was my dad's when I asked her bout it. Said he left it behind, and she kept it round for protection. Don't think she had the slightest idea how to shoot. Said that if I was careful that I could take it out and shoot it, so I did. Every day I'd set up cans and bottles around out in the backyard and practice my aim. I was kinda a natural, but with all my trainin' I just got better n' better."

"It was your father's weapon?" Hanzo asked, watching as McCree dabbed at his wound.

"Yeah… don't know what he used it for. Ma didn't talk much about him." He shrugged.

"Your mother does she… know you are here? You seem young. Seventeen? You Americans think that age a child, do you not?"

"I'm eighteen," McCree argued, "legal age in 'merica." He made a 'hmph' noise, like being called a child frustrated him. He was no kid. "And no… she don't know I'm here. I… haven't seen her years." Hanzo tilted his head, looking at him in confusion. The way his perfect forehead wrinkled in question made McCree's stomach feel like he'd swallowed butterflies. He took a breath. He need to digest them.

"Why is that?" McCree sighed.

"Joined a gang when I was fourteen… The – uh – the Deadlocks kinda took over Santa Fe after the Omnic Crisis." He paused in his story asking, "Did y'all see much of it here?"

"Not as much as the other countries," Hanzo answered solemnly. "We, in Hanamura, were relatively unaffected."

"Santa Fe was pretty much burned to the fucking ground by the time," he cleared his throat, "Overwatch stopped 'em. Shit was uh, pretty bad… Not much options for poor kids like me. Till I met this guy – real nice – named Fields. He halted me after I swiped some chips from a convenient store. Scared me so I pulled my gun on him. Course he was skeptical – why would a scrawny kid like myself know how to shoot a gun. When he teased me, I popped a bullet off – went right past his head. Told him one more step and I wouldn't miss. Guess he took a likin' to me cause he started poppin' up randomly until he asked me if I wanted something better. Told him yes… Bastard got me involved with the Deadlocks then fucking died on me." It was a bitter memory. Fields had set him up with a promise of guidance then went a croaked on him – leaving him to adapt alone in a hostile environment – just a kid.

McCree stood, moving away from Hanzo to dig in the first aid kit he had found for gauze. McCree sighed, moving around behind him. He took the gauze, holding one end onto his shoulder and wrapping it down across Hanzo's chest. His pinky brushed the side of his neck ever so slightly. The contact burned him, causing prickles to shoot up his spine. His breath wen ragged. He tried not to make it too obvious. Hanzo would notice if he made to much noise. He ran the gauze back around up his back and across his shoulder. Blood had already soaked somewhat through the first layer. He repeated the process while trying to contain his rising blood pressure that got just a bit higher every time his skin lightly touched Hanzo's.

"So, McCree-san, how did you find yourself in Japan if you were in an American gang?" Hanzo asked.

McCree sighed. He had said too much – revealed too much about his past. He couldn't tell Hanzo the truth – not without giving away Overwatch. Still, he couldn't say nothing. Silence would be just as bad. How much could he say without further digging himself a hole.

"McCree?" Hanzo asked, glancing over his shoulder at the cowboy after he was silent for too long. McCree shuttered at the beautiful intensity of his stare, his inky hair covering his dark eye partially.

"Right, uh, well… an operation went bad… I… ended up getting shot, left behind. Got busted. I was still underage." He huffed. "They put me in a… group home… One of the caregivers took a liking to me… he brought me and a few others here for a fresh start, you know." Hanzo raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. He said nothing, however.

"You did not like the… Deadlocks, I take it?" he asked, instead, letting the obvious lie go.

"It was a livin'," McCree said simply. "Didn't have anywhere else to go and it was better than the streets. Paid pretty well too. My ma had two jobs and could barely afford her little shack. At least with the money I was getting from jobs I could help her out…"

Hanzo was silent from there. He sat stonily while McCree continued to bandage his chest wound. The silence gave McCree too much open space to think about how close he was to Hanzo – the warmth of his skin each time McCree's finger accidently grazed it. It was so smooth, creamy, and flawless. Like milk that McCree just wanted to taste. The thought unsteadied him, causing his hand to slip, clipping against Hanzo's nipple. The cowboy withdrew his hand quickly, his face turning beet red as he cleared his throat.

"S-sorry," he stuttered. McCree wouldn't swear to it, but it seemed that the tips of Hanzo's ears were just as crimson as McCree's cheeks. He was so glad that Hanzo wasn't facing him – that he couldn't see how flustered his proximity made him.

"It is… quite alright," Hanzo replied. Had it cracked?

Quickly, McCree finished the wrapping, tying the gauze around itself. He grabbed the bottle of alcohol and moved away from Hanzo.

"All done," he said, hoping up on the bar. He took a swig of the alcohol. He hoped he was far enough away from the window that Hanzo couldn't see how flushed he was.

Hanzo shifted, rotating his bare shoulder around and flinching in pain. The muscles tensed and relaxed during the motion, the sharp definition shift with each twist of his right arm. He rubbed it, his delicate fingers combing over the curves of his pectoral muscle, collar bone, and arm.

By the grace of god, he was beautiful.

McCree couldn't help but stare, wide eyed and infatuated. His fingers, pawing at the bar beneath him, clutching the wood nervously. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd rather be grasping Hanzo's body. McCree's jeans were feeling tighter all of a sudden.

Was… he getting aroused?

"I thank you, McCree-san," Hanzo said, standing from his chair. He moved towards him, holding his head confidently as he swayed towards the cowboy. He hopped up on the bar next to him. McCree passed the bottle to him and he took a sip.

"Please just… call me Jesse," he replied slowly, glancing at Hanzo through the side of his eye.

"Jesse," Hanzo said the word slowly. As if he was testing how it felt in his mouth. He nodded. "Alright. Jesse." McCree smiled, the name flowing like velvet from Hanzo's lips. He ducked his head a little, hiding under his scruffy hair like a shy schoolgirl. Hanzo chuckled, noticing his timid demeanor.

"And no obligation needed," McCree said, trying to push the topic forward. "You saved my ass."

"I put your… ass," he said the word awkwardly, "in danger. I was honor bound to rescue you." McCree chuckled, swigging from the bottle.

"You're makin' it sound like I was a damsel in distress!"

"Were you not?" Hanzo laughed as well, a gentle, restrained laugh.

"Naw… I woulda… figured somethin' out." He passed Hanzo the drink, who sipped politely from it.

"You can tell yourself that all you desire. It does not make it true."

"Wound me, why don't ya!" Hanzo's light laugh turned deeper, heartier. His dark eyes crinkled and his teeth bared as he gave into the joy of the moment. It was the loveliest sight. That was until he doubled over, clutching his chest in pain. McCree, reflexively, grabbed him, cradling him in concern. He hadn't meant to. "You ok?" Slowly, Hanzo's face turned up, his gray eyes staring into McCree's through thick, black eyelashes. He swallowed hard – his thin neck tensing. Wow, he smelled unmistakably of cherry blossom petals. McCree barely noticed that his thumb made gentle circles against the section of soft, hollow skin between his collar bone and shoulder. He blinked down at the assassin, shifting awkwardly away. Their faces had lingered too close for too long. "Sorry…" Hanzo shifted, moving away from the cowboy by an inch. He cleared his throat. He nodded in acceptance of his apology. "So uh, d'you have someone at home who can change your dressings out for ya?" McCree asked, hoping to distract from their awkward touch.

"Genji," Hanzo said a little too fast. He cleared his throat, "My, uh, brother will do it. He owes me one… especially since I have chosen _not_ to kick his… _ass_ for this… He deserves it, but I will refrain." He rubbed the side of his neck, his fingers brushing over the spot McCree had touched. He was definitely blushing. It was strange to see someone like Hanzo, so confident and sure, flustered. McCree believed he was the only one to get worked up over such a little moment.

"Good, um, th-that's good. Ya need to keep 'em clean. It can still get infected otherwise. Keep cleanin' it with alcohol and keep your bandages fresh."

Somewhere in his brain he began to imagine. He wondered what it'd be like to kiss Hanzo. He could see the scene like a play created with his thoughts.

"Keep cleaning it with alcohol," he directed the beautiful assassin, "and keep your bandages fr…" Hanzo's fingers grasped McCree's collar, yanking the cowboy close and smooshing his thin pink lips against his own. Soft, plush, and tasted of tea. Warm, comforting… he felt safe. Hanzo's mouth encased McCree's sucking gently on McCree's lower lip. He found himself grasping Hanzo's jaw, his thumb digging into the bone. He moved his lips, brushing skin against skin. Hanzo's breathing became almost labored, sucking in through his nose with a bit of a rasp. McCree's pants grew smaller.

"Jesse?"

McCree blinked, looking at Hanzo with question. The assassin was leaning back, looking McCree up and down in question. His eyebrows were raised in concern, knitted in question.

"Jesse?" he asked again. "Are you alright?" McCree shook his head, realizing that he had been daydreaming.

"Fine," he said. "Just… think I had too much to drink." He handed Hanzo the bottle of alcohol. He sat it down on the bar next to him. McCree shifted, moving his legs to try and hide his growing erection.

"Perhaps, we should be going." Hanzo hopped off the bar, flinching when the movement pained him. "It is late."

"Prolly right… don't want your daddy findin' ya missin'." He nodded.

"That would be unwise." He slipped his right arm back through the sleeve of his kimono. He grunted as he pulled the cloth tight around his torso, trying to hide the bandaging. The once white and orange cloth had become bloody tatters.

"You're not gonna fool anyone if you get caught in this sorry state," McCree pointed out, raising his eyebrow.

"I will not get caught." He clipped his wakizashi sheath around his belt and tossed his katana's case over his left shoulder. He started to trek towards the door, his footsteps silent against the old wood. McCree rushed after him, his spurs clinking loudly enough for the both of them.

"Woah there, partner, slow down," he called. He finally matched step with the assassin. "You want me to walk you back home?" Hanzo chuckled, rubbing his chin.

"I think I should be walking you home," he teased, poking McCree playfully in the ribs. Once again, the cowboy's cheeks were aflame burning like fire under his skin.

"I- uh," as he struggled for the words Hanzo spun around, facing him and blocking the exit. McCree skidded to a halt, reering back. "Han?" he questioned.

"Thank you for protecting me, Jesse," he declared. Dark eyes twinkled in the moonlight, staring up at McCree. The butterflies in McCree's stomach flapped harder.

"You're the one who rescued me," he muttered, taken aback. Hanzo nodded in understanding.

"All the same, I appreciate you." He placed his left hand on the cowboy's shoulder, the white sleeve retracting slightly so that McCree could see the mouth of Hanzo's dragon. Then, the soft warmth of silky lips puckering against his cheek. If his cheek got any hotter his face would spontaneously combust. Hanzo obviously noticed the spike in skin temperature because as he leaned away he chuckled. Still, McCree could swear that Hanzo's lovely skin was turning a warm shade of pink to match his own. He cleared his throat.

McCree was pretty sure he needed to start wearing larger jeans if he was going to be hanging around Hanzo.

"Now, we must part," the assassin said, opening the front door of the bar.

"Maybe… we can… do it again?" McCree asked, finally finding his words. "Not the almost getting' killed part, but the spendin' time together part…?" He cleared his throat nervously. Hanzo glanced at him for a moment before his eyes darted away. He smirked more to himself than to McCree.

"Perhaps," he whispered. He stepped out the door, motioning for McCree to leave as well. "I do not believe we will further be bothered for tonight. We should be safe." He hesitated, a look of contemplation knitting his brow before he said, "Can you find your way home from here?" McCree blinked before nodding.

"Yeah, uh, I'll be fine. Thanks…" Hanzo nodded, moving a few feet from the door before pausing and looking back at the cowboy. McCree shoved his hands in his pockets and slowly followed. The assassin started away once more turning to the left to head back to the Shimada estate. "Bye, Han," McCree called after him.

"Saraba da, McCree-san," Hanzo yelled back, waving slightly.

"What's that mean?!" Hanzo's smile glinted in the streetlights.

"Perhaps, I shall tell you some day!" McCree grinned. He waved at the fleeting image of Hanzo, standing near the bar until the assassin faded from view.

McCree wanted to stare for as long as was possible – to hold his beauty inside his head. He'd never met a man so perfect – so wonderful. He couldn't shake the imagine of him standing under the moon, holding his sword with an expression of determination on his face. It was a fierceness of a warrior god and the beauty to match. The feeling of his heart fluttering with excitement was only beaten by the ache in his crotch. The friction of his too tight jeans rubbing against that excited part of his body was a tad too much to him. He groaned, feeling momentarily helpless. Ugh. He needed to get home.

McCree spun around and rushed towards home.

* * *

The apartment was silent when McCree arrived. Williamson was sleeping on his cot in the living area, and Hasashi's room was dark. He could see warm yellow light glowing under the sliding door that led to his and Reyes's room. He could smell coffee. Reyes's doing, no doubt. He basically swam in the stuff, fending off sleep for as long as he conceivably could. In this case, it was most likely because his commander was waiting up for him.

Reyes seemed to give him special attention. The other members of Blackwatch picked on him for it – teasing him for being a teacher's pet. On occasion, they even insinuated that he was sleeping with Commander Reyes. McCree hated that the most. He wasn't some whore out to fuck his way into his favor. If anything, he did nothing to deserve Reyes's watchful eye or kindness. He was just some punk who'd been plucked out of a gang before it could get him killed. He had no idea why Reyes like him so goddamn much.

McCree huffed, walking to the door that was placed between the two bedrooms. He tried to walk lightly, but his heavy-footed boots thumped loud against the wooden floor. He hoped Reyes had passed out, that he wouldn't stop him so he could just Get. To. The. Bathroom. Williamson turned, flipping on his futon. He didn't wake, though, he was a hard sleeper. McCree slid the door open a crack, attempting to slide through.

"Kid?" a smooth voice called muffled from the other room. "That you?"

Dammit Reyes.

"Yeah, boss… it's me," McCree called back – not loud enough to wake up the sleeping Blackwatch member not far away. "Just gonna shower real quick. You can debrief me when I get out." Before Reyes could argue with him and ruin his lustful desires, McCree shut the bathroom door. He promptly turned the water faucet on, drowning out any orders from his commander.

McCree couldn't get his pants off fast enough. He looked ungraceful fumbling at his button and zipper with one hand while his other attempted to pull his button up shirt up and over his head. His right hand, that held the button was stopping his left from dislodging the yellow cloth from his shoulder. He, begrudgingly halted just enough to toss his over shirt onto the floor. Finally, he got his pants off, shaking the worn blue jeans onto the floor only to be tangled in the boots that McCree had somehow neglected to remove. He stumbled, nearly tripping over his clothing, but caught himself on sink.

'Jesus, if I make any more fuckin' noise Reyes is gonna come in here to make sure I haven't slipped the shower and killed myself,' McCree thought to himself as he managed to untangle himself from his leg prisons. He felt like he was back in the alleyway watching Hanzo fight off the assassin's while he sat bound, his legs tied together by chains. Hmmmm. Back there… Hanzo had been amazing, so impressive… so beautiful. Those intense silvery eyes being lapped by silken black hair like dark curtains framing the moon. The feeling of his gentle lips pecking McCree on the cheek.

"Ugh, fuck," he mumbled. He couldn't even be bother to remove his boxers before he started touching himself. Just gently running his hand over the hard indent that pressed against his lasso print boxers. Little shockwaves were sent from his core up his spine, causing his back to arch.

Why was he so turned on?

He didn't like men…

Did he?

He liked Hanzo – that was certain.

He fumbled to finally pull off his boxers, freeing his throbbing, erect cock. He stumbled into the shower, sighing at the relief of the cool water pouring on his semi-bare skin.

Shit.

He'd completely forgotten to take off his undershirt in the commotion.

He was a mess – not used to being so flustered. Sure, he was no cowboy Casanova, but he knew how to talk to ladies. He had never had a simple, steely glance, a gentle touch of a hand, or a murmur of accented lips ever set his body ablaze like that before.

McCree peeled the drenched shirt that had stuck to him like a second skin away, throwing it out of the shower. It hit the ground with a squishy 'plop' noise, and laid in a sad lump of wet, white cotton.

Under the water, McCree hoped the cool temperature would relax his burning skin and slow his rushing blood. He tried to busy his hands, scrubbing shampoo into his hair. It was a flowery scent – oddly enough Gabriel's soap. The scent was faintly of cherry blossoms, and it was reminiscent of how Hanzo smelled. Suddenly, his mind was back on the assassin: his face too close to McCree's, silken black hair gleaming silver in the moonlight, and the head of the dragon peeking out at him from under his sleeve. He couldn't help but wonder where the tattoo led. It looked large in scale. Was it wound all the way up his arm? Did it meet his chest? McCree wanted to see it in its full glory. He wanted to see how it's tail wound around the defined and hard pectoral of his.

McCree hadn't even realized that he'd started touching himself again. His thumb rubbed small circles under the head of his penis. A small gasp escaped his lips as the tiny shockwaves returned causing his muscles to tense.

"Ugh, fuck," he muttered.

He couldn't resist his hormonal urges any longer. He grasped the base of his cock with his right hand, and slowly, very slowly, began to slide it along the base. Along the way, his fingertips felt each nerve of his very delicate sex organ. His thumb tracing veins that stood out against the soft skin. As he reached the tip he paused, allowing his thumb to rub the head. He moaned.

McCree steadily increased the pace of his back and forth motion, gliding his hand up and down while squeezing gently. As he went faster, he threw his head back. His wet brown hair sticking against the shower wall. Pleasure engulfed him, burning deep inside and his nerves burned like he'd been lit by a very intense fire. He wrinkled his brow, groaning at the friction.

The only thing he could think of was Hanzo. That beautiful man with sweat running down the contours of his face, glistening as it mixed with the blood from his kills. His strong chest heaved as he breathed heavily, trying to catch oxygen from the fight. The small slit where his kimono didn't close fully revealed the edge of his pecs, rising and falling.

McCree switched hands, turning so that his back was no longer pressed against the tile of the shower. He pressed his forehead against the wall, his left-hand clawing at it, trying to express the fire building within him. He squeezed harder, jerking faster. Pants came from his lips, quickening in pace as his arm did. The feeling of hot skin on hot skin growing hotter with friction lit his nerves causing more sparks to dart up his spine. He grunted, nearly screaming, only catching himself just in time to not alert Reyes.

In his mind, he imagined it was Hanzo that was touching him rather than himself. He could picture the lovely assassin standing in front of him. His left hand pinned McCree to the wall while his right grasped McCree's cock. His soft pink lips nipped at his neck whispering, "Jesse," softly in his ear. With each gasp that escaped McCree's mouth, Hanzo would quicken his pace.

"Uh," McCree gasped in the real world. "H-han," he started to moan. His instincts kicked in, causing him to slap his left hand over his mouth to stifle the rest of the name as he came.

Finished pleasuring himself, McCree completed his shower, allowing the cool water to relax his overwrought body. He put his boxers back on and gathered up the rest of his clothing before returning to his room. He was hesitant at first, slipping in there with Reyes lounging on his futon. He was scared that he'd glance up at him and immediately know that his charge had been masturbating in the shower. Fortunately, Reyes barely looked at McCree when he slipped through the sliding door.

"Glad to you're finally showering," the commander just grumbled, his brown eyes glued on the hard-back book he held. "You were starting to smell like a barn."

"Was not," McCree muttered, tossing his dirty clothes into a pile on the floor. Reyes looked up from his book then. He arched a think eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing into a glare. McCree gulped, wondering if he looked guilty.

"Do I really have to tell you to pick up your laundry like I'm your mother?" His voice was deep with disapproval. When the commander only received a blank faced stare from the cowboy he sighed. "Put your fucking dirty clothes in the laundry basket." McCree huffed, begrudgingly doing as he was commanded. "Kids. Now I know why I never had any."

"Thought it was cause you were gay," McCree said.

"Seriously, dumb ass? You sound like a bigot. Jack and I were always too busy for children." McCree looked down.

"Sorry, Reyes, that came out wrong. You know I don't… I don't think…" McCree rubbed the back of his neck impishly. How could he have any bad opinions about his commander's sexuality when his own sexuality was seeming less and less heterosexual by the minute.

Reyes sighed and said, "I know, kid. I know…" McCree huffed. Damn, he was an ass. Reyes was actually really nice to him, and he managed only to insult him. He spun around, feeling ready to go to bed. He was exhausted, confused, and his body hurt. His futon wasn't there, however.

"Where is my bed?" he asked. Reyes, who's eyes had returned to his book, glanced up at him.

"Oh," he said, "Williamson has it. He stacked it under his bed. Said, 'sleeping on the floor hurts my ass," he faked a British accent – rather well – actually. Reyes rolled his eyes.

"And you didn't stop him?" McCreen crossed him arms.

"Didn't actually see him do it. He was asleep when I got home. Hisashi told me. Don't worry, kid, I'll throw his bed out the window in the morning. Then he'll _really_ _have_ to sleep on the floor." McCree laughed.

"Trying shoving your boot up his ass then it will _really_ hurt." Reyes smirked.

"I'll throw out the mattress and you shove the boot." McCree beamed then frowned.

"Sounds good, but where am I going to sleep tonight?" He looked around the room.

"The floor?" Reyes suggested. When McCree pouted he sighed.

Reyes slid over, moving aside so there was an open area on his mattress. He waved the cowboy over, shoving aside his covers. McCree looked between his commander and the empty spot.

"You want to share a bed…?" he asked, scratching his stubbly chin nervously. Reyes sighed.

"I don't _want_ to, but I figured it's better than sleeping on the floor." He ran his hand through his brown curls. "I don't plan on spooning with you, kid. You're too… scrawny for me, anyway." McCree self-consciously looked down at his thin body. He had muscle, for sure, but absolutely no fat. He thought of Strike-Commander Morrison's fair hair, sharp face, and all together strapping body. He was a beautiful example of a man… just like Hanzo. He had to focus on Reyes once again to stop himself from imagining Hanzo's body once again. He did not need to get aroused when he was sharing a bed with his boss.

"Alright, alright," McCree agreed. He flopped onto the futon beside his boss. The motion caused Reyes to be knocked to the side. He growled, glaring at his charge and shifting so that he was sitting up straight once again.

"Settle down, kid. So are you going to tell me how it went with the yakuza kid?" McCree gulped.

He was hoping the commander was going to just forget that he was actually out on a Blackwatch mission. McCree had almost forgotten that he'd been pursuing Hanzo on behalf of Overwatch. He'd been having so much fun with him that it didn't seem like work in the slightest. He didn't want to tell him that Hanzo was actually the Shimada clan heir, and not just a member of the assassin's mafia. If he did tell then Reyes would force McCree to stay away, or worse make him a target. If he found out the Hanzo a Shimada and was starting to trust McCree then he would force McCree to lure him into capture. He would not be a part of that. So he lied.

"It went good. I really think Han and I are growing closer. Maybe next time I see him I'll be able to convince him confide in me."

"You said that last time." McCree began to sweat. Reyes was an intelligent man – there was no way he didn't notice.

"Naw… not exactly, I mean."

"You afraid I'm going to pull you off the mission, McCree?" McCree shook his head, a little too fast. Reyes raised an eyebrow. He wanted to deny it, but it came across as the perfect opportunity to cover his butt.

"Yeah… maybe a little. You didn't seem convinced and since I still have nothing…"

"Nothing is what we all have, kid. I'll give you a little more time." Reyes paused. He glanced down at his book than back at the cowboy. "I believe in you, Jesse." McCree couldn't hold his muscles back as they twitched into a smile. His cheeks blushed and his eyes darted to his lasso print boxers.

"Th-thanks, boss," he whispered. He wasn't used to people having faith in him… or even caring about him. Reyes, though, he was genuine. McCree had known liars and assholes his whole life. He found it hard to open up to people who he thought may betray or hurt him. Reyes was beginning to earn not only McCree's respect, but his affection. He smiled.

"Any time, kid."

Reyes didn't speak for a while. He'd went back to reading his book as he leaned lazily against the wall. McCree didn't feel like sleeping. He felt incredibly tired, but his mind wasn't ready to shut off. He glanced over at Reyes, looking at how he clutched the book with such investment as his brown eyes skimmed the words hungrily.

"Whatcha readin', Reyes?" McCree asked, his curiosity taking over. He could read some of the words, but didn't recognize the story. He didn't want to lean forward and pryingly look at the cover.

"Macbeth," he murmured, his voice distance as his mind still lay in the pages of the novel. McCree squinted.

"What's that?" he asked. Reyes's eyes slowly panned up to the kids face.

"You don't know Macbeth?" he asked with utter disbelief. "It's Shakespeare…"

"He's that play guy, right? The one who wrote that story about those twelve year olds who killed themselves for," he air quoted, "'Love?'" Reyes's eyebrows knitted.

"Yeah… that's him… and you're talking about Romeo and Juliet."

"Yeah, that's the name." He pointed his thumb at the hard-back book.

"What's that bout?" Reyes glanced between him and the worn pages of the play.

The book had seen wear. It was rare to even see physical books these days, but it made sense to McCree that he'd be a guy who liked physicality. He'd probably had that book since he was just an angry, goth teenager. McCree laughed at the thought of a moody, beardless, and young Reyes sitting on the steps of a rundown school in a black skull shit, an ear piercing, and a beanie on his curly chin length hair reading that same book in its prime. It was a fun image.

"Well," Reyes started. "It's about a Scottish general named MacBeth who is prophesized by some witches that he's going to be the King of Scotland. The prophecy and his nutty wife drive him to kill the current King and to see the throne. Hence, fulfilling the prophecy. His paranoia gets to him and he ends up just… murdering the fuck out of people until he – himself – is killed. It's a tragedy… like a lot of Shakespeare's work. My favorite."

"Wow, that sounds really depressing. You're a dark guy, Reyes." He sighed.

"Yeah, like I haven't heard _that_ before." He stopped speaking, focusing on reading his book. "How don't you know Shakespeare? Highschools practically shove that shit down kid's throats." It was a serious question. McCree scratched his chin nervously again.

"I... dropped out my freshman year… Kinda hard to be a good student and a good murderous gang member, ya know?" Reyes cocked his head to the side.

"You… didn't finish high school. Kid, your education is important!" He seemed almost passionate about it. McCree sighed.

"Not to me."

"Well, it should be…" McCree hung his head. It's not like he'd done it on purpose. School didn't seem a priority when he was running, gunning, and making money by breaking the law. Now that he thought about it, he wondered what his life would be like if he had stayed in school. Reyes said nothing for a moment. He just studied McCree's shamed face. "Would you like me to read to you?" he asked. That got McCree's attention.

"Huh?" he nearly gasped.

"Yeah… Jack says he likes when I read to him. Says I," he chuckled to himself, "have a soothing voice. I swear, he tells me he's seen operatives swoon when I come on mic."

McCree could have sworn he saw Reyes's dark skin blush slightly as he talked about his husband. It was… kind of disarming, if he was to be honest… and cute. He seemed to genuinely love Strike-Commander Morrison. It was obvious even to McCree. He beamed just at the mention of Jack.

"Well, I don't wanna swoon, but I'd like to hear some MacBeth. Maybe it'll even make me smarter?!" He grinned. Reyes tilted his head.

"You're smart McCree… you don't have to be educated to be intelligent." McCree grinned. Commander Reyes was really good at making him feel good about himself.

Reyes flipped through a few pages of the book, skimming the words and trying to find the perfect passage to read to the Shakespeare virgin. McCree watched with both excitement and curiosity, leaning forward and reading the strange old English that he barely actually understood. When Reyes stopped at where he was satisfied he glanced at McCree, his eyebrow raised in question. McCree nodded to tell him to go ahead.

Reyes began to dramatically read what he said was a soliloquy from the titular character. He commanded the strange English form rather well as if he'd read the monologue aloud many a-times. McCree wondered if he'd done theater as a kid. He could picture teen Reyes wearing a fake beard with costume clothing standing on a stage under a spot light bellowing the speech. It was a pleasant thought. Sometimes Reyes seemed almost supernatural – unhuman. Thinking of him as a theater kid was grounding.

Once Reyes finished McCree said, "Read more, please?" Reyes smiled.

"You like it?" he asked. The cowboy nodded genuinely.

"Yeah, I do… don't really understand some of what ya said, but maybe you could explain?" He smiled up at his boss with an innocent and childish look.

"Sure, kid."

So, Reyes read MacBeth to McCree. He hung on to every word like a child being read Cinderella for the first time. The night went on eventually becoming later and later. Eventually, McCree fell asleep – his head on his commander's shoulder. Reyes put away the book and turned out the light, allowing the kid that he was growing fond for to sleep.

* * *

 _A/N: This chapter was the definition of hell. First, this part was actually supposed to be part of the last chapter. However, when it became over ten thousands words long at just the halfway point I knew adding this on would overstuff it TOO much. So I split it off... then it turned into a whole thing. Next, I had the WORST case of writer's block that practically halted the chapter for about a month - frozen at a single paragraph. Most of the chapter was written in a relatively short amount of time - a week - and the end only took about two days. I'm not totally sure if I'm actually happy with the chapter as a whole... so much went wrong with it that it came out a little inconsistent._ _T_ _his is also the first time I've actually written smut. I like smut - it's fun. I just feel weird writing it myself, and it was quite the task to actually get it where I believed it acceptable._

 _Anyway, let me know what y'all think about the chapter! All reviews are, as always, appreciated. Thanks for reading._


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Before we get started I just want to apologize for this chapter and how brutal it is ahead of time... I am sorry_

* * *

Ch. 14

Present Day

Jesse McCree

McCree felt like his skull had been split in half by an axe. A searing, blunt ache burned behind his eyes – like his eyeballs were about to pop out of his head. Every move he made felt as if his bones were weighted, and shifting from his laying position on the sofa was a daunting task. McCree grunted, moaning into the calloused palms of his hands as he rubbed his face. His fingers smooshed into his eyes, trying to squeeze the pain from his head.

He had a hell of a hangover.

What had he done last night?

He couldn't even begin to remember. Everything after returning to the apartment from the Talon attack was a blur. He didn't know where he'd gotten the alcohol from, how he'd got there, or who'd brought him back home.

The flat was pitch black, and McCree's blinding headache made it impossible for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He squinted, rubbing them with his knuckles. He still couldn't see shit. McCree stood, stumbling in the dark from the sofa he'd woken up on towards the bathroom. He had to pee very badly. Unable to see, he kicked the coffee table.

"Dammit," he muttered.

Pulling open the curtains above the sofa casted shining lunar light into the room. Everything was still within the room, shadows resting still in the glow. Hanzo's pale skin glimmered as he tossed gently under the plush bedding. He sighed in his sleep, his right arm covering his eyes idly in reaction to the sudden shift in lighting.

McCree, able to see, made a run to the bathroom. Upon his return, he lit up a cigar and stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was brisk, cold on his skin. It prickled against his nerves causing bumps to raise. The street below was dead, no pedestrians, no arguing couple. It was late – in the wee hours of the morning before the dawn broke. Three or four a.m., McCree assumed. The time of day when the city slept, and one's thoughts were vulnerable to the silence.

He could still hear Reyes's tainted voice reverberating from behind that bone white mask. A menacing, rage that torn his once pleasant lilt. "Join Talon. Join me… or be killed like the rest of Overwatch." The words still chilled him. He felt dirty for even having heard them. He'd never betray Overwatch… ever. Not even for Gabriel Reyes.

But he wasn't Gabriel Reyes – not anymore. He was Reaper. A creature made of darkness and evil. A demon that carried his voice, and that spewed manipulative memories. He was a monster. Gabriel Reyes was gone – dead and buried. Plain and simple.

So then… why did it hurt him so badly?

He couldn't fathom that the man he'd revered as a father would hurt the people that he loved. How could he destroy the thing that he'd given his life to build? Overwatch _was_ his life. It had been for decades. It consisted of his best friends, his husband… his children… How could he just turn his back on all that he'd worked so hard to maintain?

McCree rubbed his prosthetic arm idly. The metal skull etching was cool under his thumb. He broke away, long enough to inhale a puff from his cigar. He turned slightly to check on Hanzo and assure that he hadn't woken him. His friend was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling steadily. The night that wrapped around him seemed to twitch with anticipation, as if caressing the breathing man. McCree rubbed his sore eyes, and the inky shadows had settled. He was pretty sure his head might explode. He turned back, looking off the balcony once more. With a sigh, he hung his head and blew out the smoke.

"Goddammit, Reyes," he whispered. "Why d'ya gotta be a bad guy?" He shook his head, trying to shrug off the despair that was wrapping itself around him. Embracing him like the darkness that the sky held. He was unsure how to cope with the knowledge he'd been granted. His heart was broken… all over again.

He needed a drink.

Reserving himself to wallowing in his self-pity, McCree hung his head. His arms draped over the guard rail, hanging limply over the edge and only tensing when he moved to take a drag of his cigar. He flicked off some ashes, blowing out plumes of grey-white smoke that wafted up into the air and dispersed like it'd never even existed.

He listened to the sounds of the night. Which was near nothing save the very distant purr of vehicle motors. The silence was deafening, causing a painful ring in his desperate ears. He tapped his metallic fingers against the metal railing just to hear something, making a defined clink noise of metal on metal. The smoke break was becoming unbearable. With a sigh McCree snuffed out the blazing end of his cigar, tossing it from their apartment onto the pavement stories below. He was just about to turn around and head back inside, to hear the sound of Hanzo's soft and relaxed breathing, when the hum of silence was split by a loud and piercing bang.

A gunshot. A sniper shot.

The sound was unmistakable.

McCree's body bristled, rigged at the only thing that crossed his mind in the split second between his reaction and the explosion. Hanzo. The shot hadn't hit him – it had been nowhere near him. The shooter wasn't gunning for him and the only other option was that he had to of been aiming at his sleeping friend.

"Hanzo!" he yelled out. Fear and adrenaline pumped through him, causing his heart to thump painfully in his chest. He could feel each pulse in his neck, making it hard for him to breathe. "Han!" He had to get to him. He had to assure that he was alright.

God, let him be alright.

He darted back into the apartment, shoving the door open with a violent slam. He sprinted through the studio, past the couch. Sharp pricks punctured into his bare feet. Glass: small broken shards from the window above the sofa that had been splintered by the bullet. He ignored the pain, rushing towards the bed. He could see blood. Crimson liquid splashed across the faded wallpaper and staining the cotton sheets of the nearby empty bed. Milky white feet jutted out from the other side, unmoving.

"Hanzo!" McCree yelled. Tears ebbed down his cheeks, leaking as he approached the bed.

"Not one more step," a deep and ominous voice threatened from behind. McCree froze in place. His eyes locked on the scene of his murdered friend. He knew the voice – taint and rage.

"You ganna shoot me, Reyes?" McCree asked, his tone devoid of emotion. "Go ahead. You just had killed the last good thing in my life." Uncaring of what happened next, McCree moved forward. He ignored the shotgun at his back and paced towards the red bed. He just had to see Hanzo one more time… He had to hold him. He half expected for his former mentor to finish the job he'd started back when he went to go meet Sombra. He thought that he'd just put buckshot in his back before he could even reach Hanzo.

He wasn't shot, however. Instead a black tendril wrapped around his arm, locking him in place. The smoky extension of the mercenary that was Reaper was cold and the simple touch of it made his skin ache like tiny little thorns lined it. McCree tried to pull away, but the tendril disallowed any sort of movement. He glared at the white owl mask.

"Let me go!" he demanded, tugging harder even if it did hurt him something fierce. Reaper moved closer, the soot stained barrel of his right shotgun staring him down. "Let me go, Reyes! Let. Me. Go!" His screams broke into shakes, unsteady and unstable. "Please, Reyes," he whispered. He could barely muster the strength to speak. He thought he might collapse. His knees trembled, weakening. He could smell the blood – pungent grotesque sweetness that filled the air.

"Stop struggling," the ghost growled – a deep tearing rumble from deep within his chest. The tendril tightened, yanking him onto the ground. McCree didn't have much will to resist and crumbled onto his knees at the inky appendages insistence. The gun pushed into his cheek.

"I a'rdey told you, just shoot me," he muttered, hanging his head. "Go on. What're ya waitin' for? You killed Hanzo – that sniper of yours did, anyway – just take me out too. Ain't that want ya came here for?"

McCree looked out the fractured window, staring at the building across the street: the obvious vantage point. Hanzo was concerned that Talon scouts might be able to target them from there. McCree just told him not to worry so much. If only he'd heeded the warning, and kept the curtains closed then this wouldn't had happened. He was such a fool… Hanzo always told him as such, but it had never been more obvious to him that it was the truth.

On the rooftop, stood a shapely woman knelt on the ledge holding a large sniper rifle aimed towards their direction. She was shaded by the night, but McCree could see a long black pony tail whipping in the wind behind her. She wore strange arachnid-like goggles, folded down over her eyes and pressed against the scope of her rifle.

He knew her, he realized.

Widowmaker.

McCree had never had a run in with the notorious Talon agent personally before, but he'd heard a great deal about her. She'd been the assassin who murdered Mondata, and had assisted Reaper in their attempt to steal the Doomfist gauntlet. He knew Tracer had a burning contempt for the agent. A marksman without peer. Except maybe…

McCree's eyes moved to where Hanzo lay, unable to see him, but still desperately needing to. He tried to pull from Reaper, but more tendrils laced around his limbs. They tightened, holding him absolutely still. Reaper's taloned gauntlet traced slowly across McCree's jaw, drawing the cowboys face upwards so that he was looking into the hallow black eyes of his mask. McCree clenched his jaw, tears streaming across his cheeks.

"Reyes," his begged simply in his tone.

The shadow was silent for a moment. He cocked his head to the side, a questioning look despite the static expression on his mask. Finally, his dark voice whispered, "It'll be ok." With that, the brunt of his shotgun came crashing down against McCree's face. He barely felt the pain of the impact as he was instantly knocked out cold.

* * *

"You're the most beautiful man in the world, ya know that?" Jesse's voice filled with adoration. He'd turned away from the warm stove to view his husband as he walked into the kitchen.

Golden sunlight shined through the window, causing the soft white cotton curtains to glow. The kitchen was quaint, decorated with chipped faux-wood cabinets, worn linoleum floors, and a fridge covered in those alphabet magnets. Jesse couldn't even remember buying them. They'd just always been there. They'd been shifted around to spell out, "HIGH NOON," in an assortment of rainbow: bright greens, oranges, and yellows. The small room smelled of brewing coffee and frying eggs.

"Good morning, anata," Hanzo hummed, strutting into the kitchen like an angel in black slacks and a white dress shirt. He kissed Jesse gently on the lips, a soft peck of endearment and familiarity. Jesse brushed his fingers over the white wings that jutted from Hanzo's silky black hair. He loved those soft puffs. "Spoiling me with breakfast again, I see." Jesse wrapped his arm around Hanzo's thin waist and pulled him to his side. He kissed him on his delicate forehead.

"Nothin's too good for you, darlin'." The forehead kiss turned into a deeper kiss on the mouth, and Hanzo's hand grasped the stained grey cotton that covered Jesse's pec.

The sizzling of the cooking breakfast turned into a pop, and hot grease splattered on Jesse's arm. He jerked, jumping to the side and away from his husband. He looked at Hanzo who was snickering at his pain.

"Not funny," he said, smiling despite himself.

"Hush up and finish cooking. I have to be at the school in an hour." Hanzo kissed where the grease had hit Jesse before pouring a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table. Jesse blew his husband and kiss and turned back to the stove. He carefully flipped the frying egg with the expert skill of a marksman.

"Daddies!" a small, high pitched shout alerted both men to the small girl entering the kitchen.

"Musume," Hanzo said, motioning their daughter towards him. "What are you wearing?" Jesse glanced over at the child who walked into the kitchen. She was dressed in yellow leggings under a denim skirt with a too small pink parka over top. "It is summer, and very hot outside. Take that off."

"But its puffy," she argued.

"Listen to your father," Jesse said, looking away. He used the scolding tone that always got Ayami to obey. She sighed, stripping of the too thick jacket and throwing it haphazardly on the kitchen floor. Hanzo sighed, not bothering to argue with her about picking up her laundry.

"Now come here," he said.

"You ganna do my hair, daddy?" she asked, following his beckon. Her small cowgirl boots thunked against the hallow floor. She had Jesse's sense of style, Hanzo would say.

"Yes, love," he said. He kissed the small child on the top of her head and pulled her up into his lap. He brushed back her soft, black, and straight hair into two pig tails.

"Ayami, you ready for breakfast?" Jesse asked, smiling back at the girl.

"Hungrier than a baby pig," the girl said in a childish southern accent.

"Good. I made too much food again." Jesse chuckled, plopping a plate of eggs down in front of his husband. It held much more than what Hanzo alone would eat. Ayami preferred to eat off the plate of one of her father's rather than have her own.

It was a pleasant breakfast full of laughter and bonding. Such as it was with the family. It was nothing but love and happiness. Jesse could not imagine being happier. His life was perfect.

"Jesse, do we have an aspirin?" Hanzo asked. "My head is killing me." His voice sounded odd as if something was muffling him.

"Yeah, there's some in the," Jesse glanced up, "medicine cabinet…" his voice faded away, mouth dropping. "Han?" His voice was distant, stunned.

"What is it Jesse?"

Jesse couldn't breathe.

Blood ran down the side of his face, streaming from a large and violent hole in his beautiful head. He didn't even seem to notice, confusion painted on his face. But it was there. A large, round chunk ripped from the side of his head, leaving behind messy scarred pulp. The leaking blood washed across the right side of his face, staining his milky skin and matting his silken hair. He was hardly recognizable.

"Hanzo," Jesse croaked, his voice weak.

"Jesse?" Hanzo asked. His voice was even meeker – barely audible even. Blood exploded from his opening mouth, spraying Jesse and soaking him in his husband's life blood. When he wiped the mess from his eyes he only saw Hanzo's lifeless body slumped on the table.

"Daddy?" a small voice questioned, pulling Jesse's attention to his daughter, sitting in the dead man's lap. "What's happening?!" she demanded in a frightened voice.

"Ayami!" Jesse called, but it was too late. The small girl's form was fading from view, turning transparent. He reached out to her, trying to grab her but she was intangible and his hand passed right through her.

"Daddy," she managed one last squeak before vanishing entirely.

Jesse could only sit there, watching the scene in horror. His heart ached. He was horrified.

"Join Talon. Join me. Or be killed like him," a demonic voice hissed from behind.

"C'mon, McCree, you know we're going to be the winning side," a Mexican accent chimed in the other ear.

"The winning side," the demon mimicked. A cold and thorned tentacle wrapped around Jesse's throat. "It'll be ok."

* * *

McCree shot up, jerking upright. Everything was hazy, clouded in his mind. Perhaps, a result of the painful hangover that was pounding in his head. It felt like he'd been pistol whipped by a shotgun.

Where was he?

He couldn't remember, but he had been slumped over on a cold steel table. Drool from his deep sleep had stuck to his cheek. The room was dark, void of light besides a small glowing florescent one above his head. It illuminated only his table, and nothing much more. Maybe he was still in the bar and had passed out on the table.

Man… Hanzo was going to be mad at him. He needed to get home.

McCree stood up straight, pulling himself from the chair and pushing off from the table. He stumbled, the effects of his hangover hunkering him down. He walked around, but was jerked to a stop by something entangling his right wrist. Startled, he looked down and saw a silver hand cuff clasped around his wrist. It was attached to the table by a linked chain, anchored into the top right corner.

"What the hell?" he gasped. He pulled against the restraints, tugging with all his might but the table didn't budge. It was bolted to the ground, and McCree was trapped.

Shit. Where the hell was he?

He wracked his brain, trying to remember what had happened the night before. He remembered calling Winston, warning him about Talon bombing Vishkar. After that, he had gone to the bar down the street from the flat he and Hanzo had been staying at. From there it got a little fuzzy. He remembered the harrowing dream, however. The sniper shot that ended his friend's life, and then his fantasy corrupted to despair. He could still hear Reaper's voice in his ear, "It'll be ok."

A shiver shot down his spine.

What if it hadn't all been a dream?

Had Talon actually came for them? Was Hanzo really dead?

It all started to become clear to him. He'd really experienced it, and now… he was Talon's prisoner.

He collapsed back into the chair at the lone table, reserving himself to his fate. There was nothing more he could do, but wait and sulk about his situation.

Hanzo was actually dead.

McCree felt like there was a hole in his chest and the waters of agony were flowing into it like a sink drain. It was like all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and every gasp sent needles prickling into the muscle. Despair was swallowing him, sucking him into its depths to which he'd have no hope of escaping.

The only man he'd ever truly loved was dead… and he was heart-broken.

He couldn't help but shake the guilt. It was his fault. He hadn't protected him well enough, hadn't been observant enough. Instead of keeping an eye out, instead of focusing on their mission, he went out and got shit-faced. He had hit rock bottom… As low as he'd been before, he wasn't sure he could set a new record. Now, Hanzo was dead, Reyes was a monster, and he was captured. Things couldn't get much worse.

As McCree wallowed in self-pity, he heard voices approaching from outside his room. They were growing louder as they got closer. At first, they were just mumbled, but when they became clear enough it was obvious that the two speakers were arguing.

"You know the Shimada was an important part of our plans," a deep and heavily accented voice yelled.

"Don't be ridiculous. He already turned down several of your offers. He'd joined Overwatch. Hanzo Shimada had chosen his side," the sinister and familiar voice of Reaper replied.

"And your former protégé hadn't?"

The voices were muffled, and McCree held his breath so that he could hear them better.

"We've already discussed this," Reaper growled with annoyance. "I'm done with this conversation." There was a short pause.

"The only thing I see is an old, sentimental man." That pause was longer.

"You know me better than that, Doomfist. I made a strategic move that I believed would benefit our organization."

Doomfist, hm. McCree had heard about his prison break. He'd been jailed by Overwatch shortly before the disaster, and since his escape Talon had gotten ruthless. He'd been the one who seized King's Row in the first place. They were making bolder moves, and becoming a bigger threat to the world under his guidance. He was here… that was a frightening thought.

"Walk me through your thinking," he said. Reaper scoffed.

"My thinking? Hm… My thinking was that McCree is weak-willed. The shock of seeing me coupled with the loss of his only earthly connection…"

"Hanzo is…" The other man started, but Reaper silenced him.

" _Hanzo_ _ **was**_ stronger than you gave him credit for. He was reconnecting with his brother, and falling for an old flame. We had a window of opportunity to recruit an Overwatch operative. It was between Hanzo Shimada and Jesse McCree. Shimada would have required both the death of McCree and his brother Genji. Genji, as you know, is out of our reach currently. McCree, however, was the perfect target." Doomfist didn't reply. "Now, are you satisfied with my decision?" When he said nothing further Reaper added, "Unless you wanted to break into the Overwatch base and assassinate the ninja on your own without being spotted?"

"Talon wanted Shimada," the accented man finally replied.

" _You_ wanted Shimada."

"I _am_ Talon." Reaper chuckled humorlessly.

"You are a board member. As am I. This whole conversation is academic. Hanzo Shimada is dead. Jesse McCree is in that room, and if you don't mind… I need to get to work."

The sound of heavy clinking boots neared McCree's room. He took a breath, ready to face Reyes. He had to steady himself. He knew this would be a difficult interaction.

"Reaper," the voice of Doomfist called again, halting the mercenary from entering the room. "Would you like me to do it?"

There was no hesitation as Reaper replied quickly with a deep and stern, "No."

"You're sure you're strong enough? He _is_ your former apprentice."

"Positive."

"You understand that your failures in terms of your ex-husband and friend tell us of your incapability to let go of the past, don't you?"

"All for the greater good of the grand scheme." There was silent tension between the two that was obvious even to McCree.

"I'm not sure if I give you too much credit, or not enough." Reaper chuckled a dark and dry laugh.

"Guess you'll have to find out," that sounded almost teasing or threatening… maybe both?

The brash sound of Reaper's heavy boots thumping against the metal floor resumed. They were close now, only feet away. McCree inhaled, readying himself. A loud creek emanated from somewhere on McCree's left, but he couldn't see a door open. Dreadful silence followed as he looked around desperately trying to see a glimpse of stray light reflecting off of Reaper's enamel white mask. There was simply nothing. He could feel that he was being watched, but he was unable to see the perpetrator. He felt like he was being haunted by a ghost: a silent and unseen spirit observing him. In some ways… that was accurate.

The stillness drug on for what seemed like forever. Under the certain intense stare McCree felt raw and exposed. It was an uncomfortable sensation that caused a pinch in his breast bone, an ache of anxiety. The dreadful expanse of silence was finally broken by McCree after he just couldn't take it any longer.

He said, "I know yer there, Reyes. Stop being fuckin creepy." There was no reply – not for what seemed like at least a few more minutes.

Finally, a sinister voice rasped, "Don't like hide and seek, huh?" Heavy boots hammered across the metallic floor, circling around where McCree was held hostage.

"Not really able to seek - what with bein' fuckin' chained the table n' all," his words came out in a growl. He was getting sick of the games. He'd watched Hanzo die, and he didn't have the patience for it. He just wanted to know why.

"You always liked to back talk," Reaper's hiss came from McCree's flank. He hadn't even heard him approach. Suddenly, his voice was right at the cowboy's lobe, growling menacingly into his eardrum. McCree reacted to the threatening proximity by jerking his free arm back. His prosthetic balled into a fist, aiming towards the source of the voice. McCree wasn't a hot-headed man, but he had been pushed to his breaking point. He couldn't take anymore. His attack was jarred to a stop. Reaper's hand snatching his wrist before he could manage to punch him. His left arm locked him in a vice grip so hard that McCree was unable to pull free even by pulling away with all his force. "Ingrate," he yelled. Reaper's left hand came down hard between McCree's shoulder and elbow, his palm slamming into the bone. The phantom's right hand held McCree's arm taut and the force of the blow into his forearm caused his humerus to snap like a twig.

McCree barely recognized his own voice in the pained scream.

When he was released, he just crumpled onto the table. He breathed, glaring at the owl mask as it's wearer circled around to the other side of the table. Reaper just stood: arms straight with clenched gauntlet-clad fists. He watched wordlessly while McCree gathered himself after having his left arm broken.

"Are you done?" he asked, allowing him only a few moments. When McCree just growled in frustrated agony he added, "You've had worse, kid."

The use of his old nickname angered McCree further. How dare he? How does Reaper have the nerve to use the name Reyes used to call him endearingly? It sounded like an insult coming from behind the skull mask – all the affection from what it once held drained and replaced with nothing but contempt.

"Fuck you," he growled, glaring up at Reaper. There was nothing of the Reyes he'd once known standing before him. This creature was not _him_. "What have they done to you?" McCree's question was feeble and quiet.

Reaper snorted and said, "Really? All the question you could start with and _that's_ the one you settle on?"

"That's the question that matters," McCree said more confidently. "I ain't gonna ask why – why you killed him – why I'm here… You're just a buncha terrorists and murders who like killin', chaos, and agony. I'm done trying to understand you. I don't wanna."

"Tell me, McCree, do you think Sombra is a murderer? She's told me about your… time together. She calls you her friend."

"Murderer? Nah, but she's obviously a cyber terrorist. And she ain't no friend of mine."

"Hmph," Reaper snorted. "Sombra is a good girl… however misguided, and she is too damn smart for her own good. Or at least she thinks she is."

"What does Sombra have to do with anything?!" McCree snapped, tiring of the riddles.

"You were always a bright kid, McCree… innocent and too trusting… You cared too much… about me, about Genji, about Fareeha." He sighed, deep and emotionless. "Some people overlooked you – saw nothing but the commander's pet. You knew the truth though, didn't you, McCree? You always understood… You realized just how much corruption had eaten Overwatch away."

"Hard not to," McCree grunted, cradling his left arm to his chest, "when it's spelled out for you loud and clear."

"You braved it while Jack Morrison cowered in fear or let himself be blinded by his own ignorance. Whichever is worse." Reaper moved around the table, stepping up beside McCree who craned his neck to scowl at him. "Why don't you try using your eyes right now, kid. Can't you see the truth?"

"All's I see is a traitor," he hissed.

"Shame…"

"Whattaya want, Reyes? You ganna ask me to join Talon again? My answer is still no. You can kill me right fucking here because I will never join Talon!" He clenched his fists. Heat burned in his chest – anger rising like crackling flames.

"Overwatch is a dead end, McCree. They will lead you to your death!" The mercenary pounded his fist hard onto the metal table, sending near painful vibrations into McCree's right arm. He withdrew, leaving behind a crater imbedded into the surface. Reaper's voice held a tinge of passion that McCree wasn't expecting. He seemed to feel very strongly about the topic, or he just _really_ wanted to convince his former apprentice to join him once more. "After what happened…"

"Overwatch ain't ran by the UN no more, Reyes!" McCree argued. "We're just a bunch of guys and gals wanting to save the world from monsters like _you_ and your disgraceful organization. Ain't no one there corrupt… they're heroes. Just like you used to be." Reaper looked away from the cowboy. He turned his head, seemingly to gaze off into the darkness. "When did you stop caring about us? When did you turn your back on the world? Did you ever care at all?" The mask recentered onto McCree.

"I'm too old to give a single fuck about the world, McCree." He shook his head in slow, jerking motions. McCree was pretty certain that the creature before him was beginning to turn transparent. He could see light glowing through his chest.

"You taught me too good to let people like Talon blow up innocents… so my answer ain't just no… it's fuck no. Fuck you and fuck Talon." Reaper didn't reply. He didn't make a single noise. He didn't even move. He just stood before the cowboy, staring off in contemplation.

"We can do this the easy way… or the hard way. Join me," he said, apparently selecting to ignore the last several denials.

"No," McCree said firmly, not budging on his morals. Reaper shook his head once more. He sighed, a deep grating noise like a machine that wasn't working properly. It wasn't human or even organic sounding. It reminded McCree of the machines that Genji used to have to plug into every night.

"I was kind enough to give you an option, but really… you have no choice. You will join Talon. I am… sorry it has to be the hard way."

He was sorry? Then, why was he doing this to him? Still, that had been the first ounce of real emotion he'd heard in Reaper's voice since he'd found him in King's Row. McCree had a pit in his stomach. Reaper wasn't lying. There was certainly something more going on. He didn't have much time to contemplate what it was because suddenly Reaper was holding a shotgun in his right hand. McCree hadn't seen him retrieve it. It just seemed to materialize out of nowhere. As fast as it appeared, it was being fired. A bullet ripped into his left leg, shredding his jeans, his skin, and his muscle. He screamed out.

McCree wasn't even given a second to recover from the gunshot wound to his leg before Reaper was in front of him. He'd hooked his foot around the leg of McCree's chair and spun him away from the table. He forced the butt of his shotgun down into McCree's face hard enough to knock him out of the chair and onto the floor. His right arm was twisted in a painful and awkward position due to the chain that tethered him to the table. The jolt sent shockwaves of pain through his broken arm. He grunted, moaning in pain.

Reaper stood above him, staring down at him with his blank yet menacing mask. The shotgun vanished from his hand in a wisp of smoke. He knelt before him, bending down and placing one arm over his knee. He leaned forward, lingering uncomfortably close to McCree's face. McCree wanted to retaliate, but his body hurt too badly to do so. Every breath felt like he was being impaled by knives.

"What ya gonna do?" McCree challenged. " _Interrogate_ me?" There was stillness beneath the white owl mask. The sound of labored breathing was the only noise in the dark room.

Finally, the apparition hissed, "Yes."

* * *

The low volume, but intense sound of metal rubbing against metal awoke McCree from his unconscious slumber. The pressure of the rooms shifted as the heavy door opened and another person entered. A mimicking creek followed as it was closed behind them.

McCree could barely process what was going on. His head pounded and throbbed mercilessly, and it felt to him like his brain was swollen against the lining of his skull. That was how bad it hurt. Amongst that his left forearm was on fire and his leg was totally numb. Through the fog in his brain, he could tell that he was laying on something semi-soft. The plush pressed around him, wrapping him in warmth.

The soft patter of light feet shuffled across the metal floor, coming closer to the cowboy. His back was towards the person, facing a bare wall. He turned slightly, rolling sluggishly onto his back and attempting to identify his visitor. His right arm twisted inside the brace of a handcuff as he did so. He was chained to the bed. He blinked his eyes, attempting to clear his blurry vision and focus in on the figure that loomed over him.

"Buenos días, señor McCree," an accented and feminine voice said – a little too loudly. The sudden sound made McCree's sensitive ears ache. He cringed back in reaction.

"Sombra," he muttered in a groggy and slurred voice. He attempted to reach out to her, but the crippling agony of his fractured bone cause him to recoil the attempt.

"Shh," she hushed, moving to his side. She took his prosthetic hand in her own and gently placed the incapacitated limb over his chest. "Stop moving it, cabrón, you're going to hurt yourself." He moaned in place of a proper answer.

"Why are you here?" he finally muttered. She took a seat on his bed next to him and turned slightly.

"I still owe you, 'member?" McCree tried to shrug, but nothing actually happened.

"That mean you're lettin' me go?" Sombra sighed.

"Nah, but I thought I could make you more comfortable." McCree scowled at the hacker. He turned away from her, rolling back onto his right side with discomfort.

"Then what use are you?" Sombra huffed, but didn't budge.

"Where's Reaper?" McCree asked. He said his name with not just distaste, but hate. He snarled as he spoke it.

"He's on business," she replied casually. There was silence between them for a few minutes. Sombra normally wasn't _that_ quiet. "Doomfist ordered me not to come here." That was surprising to McCree. "He's says it'll just disrupt the process, but I figured I'm still in your debt so I might as well disobey a little more."

"What process?" McCree was unsure what she was talking about, but he knew there had to be a reason why they were doing this to him. Reaper hadn't actually "interrogated" him. He'd just beat on him, injuring him for no apparent reason.

"Oh, ya know _the process._ " McCree turned over abruptly, jerking towards her. The quick movement caused pain to shoot through his body. He flinched.

"What process?" He demanded. "What are you talking about?!" Sombra sighed.

"Guess that's why he didn't want me comin' in here. Me and my big mouth."

"Sombra… you owe it to me to tell me…"

"Yeah, yeah. I owe you. But I've already helped you out a lot, amigo." She leaned back, pressing her back into McCree's side and using him for support. Her weight sent shockwaves of pain through his body. "First I was kind enough to deliver your old Blackwatch reports _and_ disabled that alarm you idiotas triggered. Then I gave you the Vishkar info, so I think I'm pretty far ahead on my retribution." She shrugged, lifting her hands dramatically in the air while touching her shoulders to the lobes of her ears.

"Sombra," McCree begged. She sighed.

"Ok, ok. Since we're friends and all I guess so…" She stood up and lifted her hands dramatically in the air. "Indoctrination," she said. McCree looked at her in confusion.

"Indoctrination?" he questioned.

"Yeah… they plan on brainwashing you…" That wasn't something that McCree was expecting. Brainwashing? That was possible? The thing that hurt the most was the idea that Reyes would voluntarily let Talon brainwash someone he'd once considered a son. It was devastating to know that Reyes was really that far gone. He truly was beyond help.

"They did this to weaken me, didn't they?" McCree asked.

"I don't know the linguistics of it. I'm a hacker not a neurologist, but yeah… that's the gist of it."

"Then what do they plan to do with me? Ganna wipe me clean and plant all this pro-Talon bull in my head then what?" Sombra shrugged casually.

"Don't know, amigo. Though, it's possible they'll send you back to Overwatch as a sleeper agent." McCree sighed.

"Shit, Sombra," he huffed, plopping his head into the pillow. "Anyway, you can let me go?" Sombra looked at him with nothing but amusement, her arms crossed.

"No," she said.

"Then kill me. Just… don't let me be their puppet." She leaned down, her face inches above his.

"No, Señor McCree, you are a very important piece of a very large puzzle. If I toss that piece in the trash then the puzzle will be incomplete. And we can't have that can we?" She smirked, like she knew some secret that he was unable to even grasp. She backed away, removing herself from his personal space. She tossed him a baggie of bread that she'd apparently swiped from the kitchen. "I gotcha some food, though. Thought you might be hungry." She spun around, swaggering off to the door. She pulled open the large metal door and took a back step outside. "¡Adios!" she called, and vanished into the hall as the room closed in behind her.

McCree was left totally alone with nothing but pain and a baggie of plain white bread. McCree fucking hated white bread. It tasted like eating a mouth full of flour. Could Sombra have not at least brought him wheat bread?

This was how it ends? The love of his life dead, his father-figure beating him, and left for Talon to brain fuck him. That was never how McCree would imagine his life to end. Maybe he could kill himself before they used him to undermine Overwatch. Maybe agents would arrive and rescue him before he was lobotomized. He doubted it, though. Even if he was rescued there was nothing much left for him in the world. With Hanzo gone and Reyes insane what did he have to live for?

McCree wondered what it was like to be a mindless zombie. Would he still be him? Would he be trapped in his own body screaming while it made decisions without his consent? Would he stop feeling all together?

It wasn't a reality that he wanted to live. It seemed, however, no one was going to save him this time.

* * *

 _A/N: Again... I'm sorry for how bleak this chapter is. Don't worry though, things'll turn around for our Main Man Jesse in no time. Also remember that I cherish every review like it was a gift from the angels. Thanks for reading and... I'M SO SORRY._


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Woah, okay... this took forever to finish. I started this chapter a long time ago. So long ago... it was before Moira was added to the game. Fun Fact: I'd actually planned on inserting an OC talon healer kinda similar to Moira before her reveal. She's referenced in the beginning, but I went back and added Moira references in after the fact. Anyway, reviews are appreciated. Sorry for the wait!_

* * *

Ch. 15

Present Day

Genji Shimada

The dropship was silent aside from the low hum of the engines. Genji was glad to finally have some peace and quiet. It had been chaos, not an hour earlier when a gust of wind had caused the shuttle to shake and knocked Bastion over. He'd ended up bending some of his armor plating. Torbjörn had, of course, gotten angry and started insulting Tracer's flying abilities. Tracer, obviously, defended herself which led to an argument that Zenyatta had to break up.

Finally, things had settled down. Fareeha was asleep, her head pressed up against the handle of the harness seat. Angela was beside her, a book held open across her knees and an intent look under her glasses. Torbjörn had taken to fixing Bastion in the corner. The bot would beep from time to time, saying something that none of the human members of the crew could decipher. Still, Torb would nod and answer with an accented, "Yeah, yeah." Zenyatta was meditating, floating above the seat at the end of the recreational booth that was nestled near the door. He seemed totally at peace despite how badly the aerial vehicle was rocking and shifting. Genji wished he had that sort of center. His master was impressive, and a paragon of focus.

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His idle mechanical body feeling locked up by the period of sitting. He needed to get up and move around, but flying had never been his favorite thing. The sensation of being airborne always made him uneasy and it was much easier to sit strapped in place than to trip and fall on his face when the ship shifts.

"Are you well, Genji?" a gentle voice asked from his left. He glanced over at Angela who was sitting beside him. She'd looked up from her book having noticed his fidgeting.

"I am fine, Angela," he assured. She looked at him critically, examining his expression thoroughly. He was caught in a white lie.

"Genji," she said sternly, knitting her golden eyebrows. Genji had forgotten he wasn't wearing his face mask. Having grown comfortable to having his countenance constantly disguised had made him used to not having to hide his expressions.

"Just… uneasy," he admitted. He shifted in his seat, bringing one mechanical leg over the other one.

"Pre-mission nerves?" she asked. "I always had those too. I would never have expected you to be nervous."

"Hmm maybe," he whispered. "It occurs to me that we never served much in the field together." Angela nodded.

"No, we did not. Neither Commander Reyes nor Strike-Commander Morrison wanted me mixed up with Blackwatch operations. 'Too dark,' Reyes would tell me."

"And they were right," Genji said firmly. "You would have greatly disapproved with our actions." Angela looked at Genji intently as she tapped her finger against the pages of her book.

"You're probably right. I would not have wanted to go out there. I didn't even want to send Lilith, but Reyes insisted that Blackwatch needed a field medic with Valkyrie capabilities." She sighed, her blue eyes turning sad at the memory of the young woman who had trained under her. Genji averted his eyes to the shimmering silver of his mechanical legs.

"Understandable," he said. "It was not an easy position to be in, by any means. And then Moira…"

"Moira," Angela said with distaste that warned Genji to not continue his line of dialogue. He knew better than to get her started on the former Blackwatch geneticist. Not that she was a pleasant for him either.

For a moment, they were silent. "I remember some nights when I couldn't sleep you would make me warm tea with honey," Genji finally said, changing the topic to something more enjoying. Angela smiled, beaming at the old memory.

"Seems like so long ago," she mused, kneading her hands together.

"Another life…"

"Another time." Their eyes locked. Angela's sparkled like the blue water that rested in the pond behind Genji's ancestral home. They were calming, and deep inside his internal conflict seemed to cool. The fires of anxiety extinguished by the cool waters. He smiled at her. The moment must have gotten too intense because Angela turned her head and cleared her throat. She shifted in her seat, crossing her right leg over her left daintily. "You must be ready to see your brother," she said, distracting from that moment of strange connection.

"I am worried about him… and Jesse," Genji admitted. "We received one message and then nothing."

"It's a dead zone, Genji. They will be fine. I am confident that no harm has befallen our friends." She grinned at him in encouragement, but Genji was not so optimistic.

"I do not know, Angela. I have a bad feeling…" He hung his head. "I am confident that Hanzo and Jesse can take care of themselves, but…" Angela shifted, leaning over towards Genji. She snaked her arm under his and intertwined the fingers of her right hand within the fingers of his left. He wished that his cybernetic armor wasn't on so that he could feel her skin on his. Still, the sensory receptors that lined his robotic body tingled and it made him shiver. He returned the gesture, squeezing her small delicate hand in his. Genji was almost afraid that he would hurt her if he applied too much pressure, but she didn't even flinch. Angela just smiled and leaned her body in closer.

"Don't worry so much, Genji," she hummed in her melodic Swiss accent. "Go meditate with Zenyatta find your… inner peace." Genji chuckled.

"I would but the rocking of the ship throws off my… internal balance and my physical one." Angela giggled, covering her mouth. That made Genji smile, the short exchange with his longtime friend keeping his mind off the possible peril that his brother and other friend could be in.

The carrier shifted, jerking everyone back. Genji, Angela, and Fareeha were slammed into their safety bars. Fareeha was jolted away by the sudden stop. She looked around with a momentarily confused look on her face. Torbjörn was sent nearly tumbling over if it weren't for Bastion catching him. Zenyatta didn't move an inch, seemingly supported by his own center of gravity. His posture shifted, however, lowering his hands and raising his head. He looked towards his pupil.

"Are you okay, my student?" he asked in a concerned tone, seeing the discomfort that must have been too plain on Genji's face.

"Yes, master," he answered between the head rushes.

"Sorry about that!" a chipper British accent called over the ship's com system. "We're almost at Destination Alpha, though." She cleared her throat dramatically, not bothering to shut off the communication before doing so. She then announced in her best basic air plane pilot voice, "This is your pilot, Tracer, speaking we are coming in for a landing in the outskirts of London! Please buckle yourselves in as we might experience minor turbulence upon our decent!"

"Coulda warned me before I was thrown clear cross the ship!" Torbjörn shouted to the cockpit. He picked himself up off the ground and made his way to the empty seat on the other side of the ship. Zenyatta did the same, taking his place in the empty row beside the Swede. Both pulled the safety bars over their head as the horizontal flight turned vertical and descended to the ground.

Finally touching the earth, the agents unhooked themselves from the seats. Genji stood up and stretched his mechanical joints. He was glad to finally be free of his restraints.

Sprinting down the stairs, Lena zoomed up to the others. She pulled her flight goggles from her eyes and plopped them down on top of her head. She grinned.

"Record time!" she announced with pep. "Boy, am I glad to be back in the good ol' United Kingdom!"

"Save the bouncing for after the debriefing," Fareeha said, smiling at the excited agent. She walked over to the holo-table in the center and waved for the others to gather around. She swiped her hand across the projected map, switching it over to an overview of London. She made a motion with her hands, pulling the map into King's Row. The others crowded in to see as Pharah began to speak. "Genji, Tracer, Zenyatta: Alpha Team," she announced looking at the segregated bit of the bunch. "Your primary goal is to locate and extract Agent McCree and Agent Shimada. Our missing agents are stationed here in this safe house," she highlighted an apartment building. An open window lit up bright blue. "Last status was on Agent McCree. He was just outside the dead zone and only uploaded some information involving Mission Beta. Since then we've heard nothing. With the high rate of Talon activity in the sector we are concerned that our agents are in danger. That's where you come in." Genji was actually impressed at Pharah's commitment. He had never quite realized how well she articulated all that military mumbo-jumbo that Reyes, Morrison, and Ana used to spout at them. It actually made him feel a bit nostalgic for the old Blackwatch days. "There are, obviously, a lot of dangers here. King's Row is a Talon hotbed at the moment, and discovery is a real possibility. Do not engage Talon unless you absolutely must! Talon has absolute control of all communication coming out and going into London. Contact can only be established once you are approximately five miles outside of the city." The image on the holo-map showed a blue blinking dome over London. "So, once you are in… you're pretty much on your own." Fareeha took a step back from the table. She looked at everyone with a serious expression. "Don't make us have to send another team to rescue you. We're shorthanded."

"Trust me, we're finding them," Genji said with assurance. Fareeha nodded.

"Good to know." She gave them a nod. "Still stay together. There's safety in numbers."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," Tracer said, saluting her. It seemed Genji wasn't the only one who recognized the amount of respect that Pharah seemed to command. Fareeha smiled at her.

"At ease, Lena." Tracer smiled, relaxing her posture.

"Zenyatta is your primary medic," Angela said, taking over the briefing. "He assures me he can handle most injuries, but in any case, I have compiled some healing remedies just in case." She smiled at Genji as she handed over the duffle bag, to which he slung over his shoulder.

"No harm will come to them in my care," Zenyatta said bowing to Mercy. Her smile grew.

"I have the upmost confidence you will keep your word."

"Now," Fareeha said, "it's time we get going. We need to be in India soon." Lena walked to the door, pressing a button so that it opened up. She pulled out her cellphone and checked her phone.

"Yup! Our ride should be here," she announced, bounding out of the drop ship. "Welcome to my homeland!" Zenyatta and Genji followed her out with nowhere near the amount of enthusiasm.

"Good luck!" Fareeha called. "We'll be counting on you."

"Be careful, Genji," Angela asked with a gentle but somewhat frightened tone. He smiled as he backed away.

"I'll see you soon," he assured as the hatch closed leaving the two groups separated from one another.

"Come on!" Lena called as she rushed away. Genji, nodded, turning from the drop ship and following off towards their mission.

* * *

Genji felt uncomfortable in London. There were too many people – too much population. It was like Paris all over again except about twenty times worse. He and Zenyatta had decided it'd be best to dress in oversized clothing to cover up their… omnicness… Genji could get by. He was still human, after all. However, he was worried about what people would say if they spotted his master. After the Null Sector Uprising a few years ago, omnics were unsafe and unwanted.

"Cheer up you grumpypuss," Tracer said, glancing over at Genji from the driver's seat. "You sulk anymore and we're going to have to get your Blackwatch armor back."

"I am not sulking," Genji defended. "I just feel unwanted here." He craned his neck to stare into the back seat. Zenyatta was staring out the window intently. He seemed to be enjoying himself despite everything. Genji could just not understand how he managed to always be so positive even when the view from the car was so bleak. "I am simply on edge. This place is not kind to us, and someone should be worrying about it."

"You say 'us' like you're not human."

"I am not – not wholly – nor am I omnic." He turned back to Zenyatta who had seemed to finally take note of the conversation. "Doesn't the suffering of the omnics here trouble you, master?" he asked in genuine curiosity.

"Of course, it does, Genji… My brother Mondatta gave much to improve their lives, but…" he paused which gave Lena a chance to add into the conversation.

"I'm sorry about what happened," she whispered. "I… tried to stop her," she said the pronoun with distaste, "but in the end…" She huffed, her grasp on the wheel tightening. "If I see her again…"

"Revenge is not justice, Tracer, you will benefit to remember that." Lena's tensed hands relaxed.

"You're right," she said, nodding. "I'm sorry for my outburst." Zenyatta laughed gently.

"If that is what you consider an outburst then perhaps I need not worry about you taking revenge." Lena smiled, pulling the car to a stop.

"This is it," she said, gesturing towards an old building across the street. She squinted hard at it before pointing to a balcony a few floors up. "That's the safehouse."

Genji focused in on the small glass door that led from the deck into the flat. He couldn't see any movement coming from inside, and all the lights were turned out. With the sun setting, it would be difficult to see without the assistance of interior lighting. They definitely weren't home.

"It's empty," Genji said with certainty.

"Yeah? Well, maybe they're just out doing mission related stuff… or…"

"Drinking?" Genji suggested. Lena giggled.

"Yeah, that too."

"I think we passed a bar on our way. Do you think you could run by there quickly and see if any of the employees have seen Hanzo or McCree?" he asked Lena. She nodded, jumping out of the car.

"No prob! I'll be back in a jiffy!" Tracer blinked away from the car, rushing down the street to fulfill her task. Genji turned to look back at Zenyatta.

"I'll scale up the balcony and let myself in. Go around the front. I'll unlock the door for you." He got out of the car, looking at his master who sat patiently in an oversized gray hoodie. "Call me if you see anything out of the ordinary."

"Be cautious, my student," the monk replied. Genji smiled, pulling up his hood.

"Yes, master."

Genji could have never prepared himself for what he saw when he reached the balcony. The window that framed the studio apartment was splintered, cracked like a spider web centering around a small bullet hole. He could tell instantly it'd been a sniper shot.

He felt justified in his worry.

As bad an omen as the outside casted – the inside was a hundred times worse. There was blood splattered on the far wall, staining the beige wallpaper. It also had seeped into the carpet on the other side of the bed. There was buckshot embedded into the drywall.

"Reaper," he muttered, running his metallic fingers over the holes.

The apartment had been totally ransacked. Furniture was tossed upside down. Cushions were torn apart leaving their stuffing strewn across the floor. Talon had very clearly been here and they'd turned it upside down looking for something.

Someone had been shot too. The trajectory seemed to line up with the bullet hole which most likely came from a sniper on the roof across the street. The blood didn't seem to be enough to confirm a death. However, Genji wasn't an expert on crime scene investigation. He could only tell for certain that there was an attack and that his brother and McCree were missing.

Genji could barely hear the knock at the front door over the sound of his heart beat pounding like hammering nails in his ear drums. He didn't even realize he had opened the door until Zenyatta was saying, "Oh my. What a tragedy."

Lena, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, followed up with an, "Oi! What happened here?" She gasped. "Oh no… Talon found them. But where are they?"

"Prisoners?" Genji finally said. "Or maybe fled injured. They could be dead…" he took a breath, trying to center himself.

"Jumping upon conclusions will not help us here," Zenyatta said, offering Genji one of his soothing, glowing orbs of harmony. Its warmth helped cleanse the fear that was stirring in his chest. He put a hand on Genji's shoulder. "We must look for leads."

"Good idea," Tracer announced. "Let's search 'round." She zipped across the apartment and began to rummage through an overturned sofa. Genji sighed. He nodded, stepping back and sifted through a drawer. He recognized the clothes as Hanzo's. They were messy and hanging out the side of the drawer which was obviously Talon's doing. His brother was a neat freak and he would have never allowed his belongings to be in such disarray. He skimmed through each drawer, finding nothing more than his brother's underwear. In the bottom drawer, as he pushed aside a kimono, Genji paused, coming across something a little more interesting. He squinted, picking up the manila envelope with a big red "CLASSIFIED" stamped on the front. That was very out of place. It was familiar to Genji as something he'd seen often while he was in Blackwatch. However, New Overwatch didn't bother with such formalities. They were essentially a group of vigilantes at this point – not a military force like in the old days. Genji flipped it open.

It read:

To: J. Morrison

From: G. Reyes

Subject: Hanamura: Failed Reconnaissance

Status: Not Sent

This report describes the events that led to the failure of the mission Hanamura: Reconnaissance. Actions taken by my team revealed our true intentions to one prominent member of the Shimada clan and therefor most likely the whole yakuza itself. We were forced to leave Japan due to the danger that came with our intentions known. We may have revealed all of Overwatch.

I lay the fault on my head, and am prepared to take full responsibility for the failure. However, it is the actions of our youngest agent, Jesse McCree, that revealed our presence when he…

The sensation of someone's gaze boring down on him pulled Genji's eyes from the pages. He turned, looking out the large cracked window towards the building across the street. Standing atop the ledge, was a tall blue woman with a large sniper rife and it was pointed right at Genji.

There was a millisecond of understanding between the sniper and the ninja – a fraction of time where their eyes met. The sniper had known she'd been compromised, and the target knew he was being hunted. At that point, it was a simple contest of who would react first. Her finger twitched and his hand found the hilt of his blade. The shuffled papers of the classified report penned by his former commander fell to the ground around his feet.

The loud crack of gunfire exploding like lighting in the night exploded from the woman's rifle, hurtling a bullet at the cyborg. Genji's body tensed, the glistening blade of his wakizashi slicing through the air at an inhuman speed. The steel of his wakizashi deflected against the traveling bullet. It ricocheted, launching it back out the splintered window and towards the sniper. There was no hesitation as she dodged the reflection, side stepping in an almost majestic spin. She rushed towards the edge of the building, leaping off and catching herself with the metallic chain of a grappling hook. She swung out of view.

"Widowmaker!" Genji alerted the others before dashing forward. He didn't bother to even head for the patio door. Instead, he just launched his armored body through the fractured window he stood parallel with, causing it to completely collapse into small flakes of glass that snowed across both the balcony outside and the sofa inside. He darted across the balcony, springing over the railing and propelling himself over the gap between the apartment and the building next door. It was a long jump, but Genji had no issue landing solidly on the hard brick that made up the roof of the next-door building. He didn't even hesitate as his cyborg amplified legs pressed him onward in the distance that the assassin had fled in. He could see her rushing, glistening rifle pressed to her chest, across the next building down. He chased her down.

Back at the safe house, Tracer had taken immediate notice of Genji's sudden departure. She ran to the window only to see a silver and green blur giving chase to a sprinting blue.

"Widowmaker?" she gasped. Her heart sped up, beating in her chest.

"What is the commotion?" Zenyatta asked with a concerned tone as he floated to the busted window.

"That's Widow… she's…" Tracer shook her head, cutting off her own sentence. "I have to help Genji!" she yelled. "Stay here!" Tracer rushed out the door that rested beside the window Genji had fled through. She rushed across the balcony, springing off the railing and blinking forward over the gap. She didn't have quite the self-propelled momentum as Genji could fathom, so instead of landing right on the parallel rooftop, Tracer's feet met with a grated fire escape. She zipped up the stares, blinking so that she could reach the top faster, and joined in the chase a few dozen feet behind Genji, who was gaining quickly on their target.

The buildings around them were beginning to thin out and Widowmaker was beginning to run out of places to fleet to. The line directly ahead would be ending soon, and that would leave her only able to jump across to the left. Genji, expecting this, leapt across and began to rush ahead on the parallel building. He had noticed Tracer join in the chase. She could keep on her tail and Genji would cut her off, essentially boxing Widowmaker in with nowhere to go.

Tracer was having a serious case of déjà vu and not the regular kind that came from the fact that she could rewind her own time. She couldn't shake how much this felt like the night she'd failed to stop the assassination of Mondatta. She chasing after a fleeing Widowmaker through the cold English air… It was all too similar. Something about that made her a bit uneasy. What if she failed again? But she couldn't!

With a determined huff Tracer blinked forward, closing most of the gap that Genji's course change had left. She was now right on Widowmaker's tail, sprinting hurredly behind her. The sniper was slowing, her speed falling well below what was required to stay ahead of Tracer. Not too far ahead was a large brick wall fitted with only a small shed with a door on the side. No other building was near, and there was nowhere further for Widowmaker to go. Tracer had her.

The small metallic crunch below her foot barely registered to Tracer due to the sound of her own heart pulsing in her ears. She never would have even noticed had the burning sensation in her lungs not followed. Her eyes began to water and sting at an exponential rate. She slowed, stumbling over her own feet until she collapsed with a clumsy spill onto the rooftop below. Tracer began to cough at an attempt to clear the ache in her chest and regain the breath that was quickly being sucked from her. Before her, Tracer could barely see what was happening. She grasped her chest. "Genji," she called, but her voice was small and raspy due to the poison she'd inhaled. "Help."

When her eyes started to finally clear she could only see one thing: the dark void that was the barrel of a gun pointed right in her face. She tried to blink, tried to rewind, something. However, nothing happened.

"I've had a few upgrades since our first encounter," Windowmaker said in a flat yet somehow gloating tone. "Don't worry, mon cheri, it's only temporary. However, so is the time you have left."

"Wh-what did you do?" Tracer managed to gasp out through the pain in her lungs.

"A simple EMP shock," the sniper replied, "I had help from a friend." Widowmaker took a few slow and deliberate steps forward, her long and toned legs placing one foot in front of the other, moving her in a swaying motion as her heels clicked against the ground. Tracer's eyes trailed from the sharp heels of her boots all the way up her leather clad jumpsuit to her sharp and emotionless expression. Her lava eyes sparkled with the thrill of the impending kill. Her finger twitched against the trigger with anticipation.

Suddenly, Widowmaker's head jerked to the side.

"One more step and her pretty little head will be non-existent," she said harshly.

Tracer hadn't even seen Genji approach, but Widowmaker had almost sensed his proximity. Genji stood there, shuriken in hand, staring the sniper down.

"Release her," he demanded.

"Now why would I do such a thing?" Widow's eyes turned back to Tracer.

"Where is my brother?" Genji called after her. Her amber eyes slid to the side, watching the ninja out of the corner of her eyes.

"Last time I checked I have the bargaining chip – not you." Her gold eyes glistened, but her face showed no expression. Genji glanced at Tracer, before turning back to Widowmaker. He lowered his arm, dropping it to his side. He didn't retract his shurikens, however.

"Agreed," he said.

"Genji, what are you doing?" Lena objected. "She murdered Mondatta!" Genji didn't reply.

"Go," he told Widowmaker, unwilling to risk his friends life for a grudge – or even information regarding his brother. Her golden irises flicked to him before moving slowly back to Lena, glaring at her through her rifle scope. There was… something in her eyes. A desire, perhaps. It was unnerving. Like a spider wrapping its lunch in a web.

"No," she said with an unusual amount of joy, her finger twitching on the trigger. She moved to pull it. Before she got the chance, a painful force slammed into her, causing her to tumble to the ground. She fell face first, her sniper rifle skidding across the ground to Tracer's feet. Tracer immediately jumped up, ignoring the burning her lungs and kicked it, knocking it across the rooftop. Genji was over Widowmaker before she could even react, his blade to her throat, pinning her in place.

Tracer glanced up to see Zenyatta, floating calmly behind the sniper. He pressed his palms together, recalling the orbs that he had flung at Widowmaker to returning around his neck.

"Zen!" she said with a smile. "How did you get up here so quickly?" Zenyatta, pivoted slightly, turning towards the door that led to the inside of the building the were atop.

"I took the stairs," he said in a pleasant voice, giving her a small nod. Tracer giggled.

"Thanks for the save!"

"That is my purpose, young one."

"My brother, where is he?!" Genji demanded from the downed sniper, pulling Tracer and Zenyatta's attention.

"Anger is not the way, Genji," Zenyatta said.

"I am not angry," Genji said, calming his tone. "I simply want answers. Now, where is Hanzo?" Widowmaker's dead eyes examined the cyborg's countenance.

"Who?" she asked, flat.

"The man who's window you punctured. They were attacked. A sniper bullet aiming at a target. Your bullet." Widowmaker sighed – like a woman remembering the kiss of a lover.

"Ah yes, the feeling," she hummed. "The beautiful spray of crimson on the wall. The harrowing screams of a cowboy mourning his loss. Perfection." She smiled.

"Cowboy? McCree. Where is he?" When she didn't answer he put presser on his katana. She shifted away best she could but didn't have much room to move.

"Taken," she answered simply.

"And my brother?" No answer. "My brother…" he pressed the blade harder, drawing a bead of red liquid from her neck.

"Dead," she moaned. Genji's threats wavered, his hold on the blade weakening. "I killed him myself."

"No," Genji said, renewed fire. "There was no body."

"A clean up crew was sent. The mess was, uh, dealt with," she drew out the words as if to tease him.

"No!" Genji repeated, anger flaring.

"Genji," Zenyatta said, touching his metallic shoulder. Genji relaxed, the pressure on Widowmaker relaxing as he glanced at his master. It was a mistake.

Widowmaker knocked the blade away from her, pushing her body up, and swinging her leg around in a 360. Genji reacted instantly, jumping over the trip, but the assassin's leg caught Tracer's, knocking the girl to the ground. Genji sliced his blade at the sniper. She blocked the attack with her arm, allowing the edge to bite into her skin so that she could regain her footing. She forced the blade down and spun around, fleeing to the unguarded edge of the building and leaping off. Genji chased after her but was halted by the drop. He could see the blue woman grapple the edge of another building with a wire and swing off around the corner, free.

"Kuso," he cursed, spinning around.

"Genji," Lena said gently as she stood up. "She could be lying." Genji nodded.

"A difficult one to read, she was," Zenyatta said. "She was filled with uncertainty when she answered, however. Perhaps, she does not truly know." Genji looked at the omnic.

"Perhaps, she does," he answered. He motioned to the abandoned sniper rifle. "Grab that," he instructed, heading towards the end of the building. "Let's go."


End file.
